ABC Drabbles
by Wicked Thespian
Summary: I haven't written anything in a very long time, and my friend suggested using the alphabet and a fandom to get back into writing. This is the result, a letter for each day, a short chapter or one shot for each letter. Nothing too profound, mixed characters and themes, but if anyone likes anything specifically and leaves a note, maybe I'll expand on it!
1. A - Accoustic

**ACOUSTIC**

"Did you hear that?"

Giles looked up from his book, his glass having slid almost entirely down the length of his nose. He stared at her, then, over their upper rims, his light eyes focusing on his Slayer. She had turned in her chair, though she had been sitting in it backwards so now that her attention was elsewhere she was actually sitting the right way in the chair. She only seemed to have proper manners when she was not paying attention to herself.

Still, he knew better than to immediately shrug off her instincts, and she did not often try this tactic as a method to distract him. Well, not often this week, anyway. He looked up from his research, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and let his vision readjust from the close and clearness of reading to the blurriness of everything else. There was nothing of note in the library, though. Nothing stirring, and no noises outside their own breathing.

He fixed her a look that she endeavored to ignore.

"I know I heard something, Giles. It was like... music. I think someone might be here." Buffy got to her feet, pushing the chair across the floor with a terrible screech that shattered the peaceful quiet that had settled over them. Buffy did whatever she could to get out of researching, but he got the feeling that this time she wasn't just fabricating some excuse to go running off into the hall and never return.

"The school is closed, I doubt there is anyone still on campus..." they were, but they always were. They broke the rules every day, because this was their meeting place. He was not sure why it seemed so impossible to believe that someone else, especially someone Buffy's age, was more than capable of it, as well.

They both listened for a while, but whatever sound she had heard did not come again. Giles returned to his books and eventually even Buffy, with a profound and pained sigh, flopped back into her chair and picked up the book she had not been reading.

It was Giles' turn to hear the music this time. A soft sound, the strings of a guitar being strummed with care and precision. There was purpose, strength, in the cords. His head snapped up and he strained to hear it. There was a familiarity to it, something striking a cord, without irony, in his own heart and mind. His memories stirred and he could almost feel his pulse quicken, though the beating of his heart made it difficult to hear the already airy melody.

When it faded again, he found himself blinking, baffled, and he looked at Buffy in wonder to find her staring at him like someone who had just been vindicated.

"Ah, yes. I heard it. Let's go see what it is then, shall we?"

He put his book down, and she bounced toward the door while he followed close behind. She was nimble and battle ready, excited and on her toes because of it. She acted like he'd had her chained to the desk for hours, though really, they had only been researching for less than one. As they moved into the hall the music began again, stronger now, flowing down the hall toward the music room. The most Giles heard it, the more he knew what it was.

"This song..."

"It's pretty. It sounds like a guitar, doesn't it? Do you think someone is here playing when they shouldn't be? Would be nice for it not to be something big, slimy or bitey for once," Buffy shook her head, "definitely don't need slime tonight."

"I know this song," Giles continued, as if not hearing her. She paused, watching him, but he did not even break his stride until he was at the door of the music room, peering in. It was pitch dark in there, and the small window revealed nothing.

"You do? I've never heard it." Buffy, behind him, spoke softly. Whoever was inside would be spooked by their sudden arrival, and yet she didn't want to give their position away. Slayer instinct, maybe.

Giles nodded, leaning on the door for a moment, hand resting on the doorknob. The music was louder now, steady, just beyond the door and filtering out to them slowly. He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath as the music reached into his past, bringing forward his memories whether he wanted to see them or not. He shook his head very slowly, taking a deep breath and drawing himself from his reverie.

"I wrote it," he said at last, staring forward into the dark room while Buffy took that idea in. He did not look back at her, turning the doorknob and finding it unlocked. It gave way, and the door swung open slowly, darkness reaching out from the room beyond, spilling into the hallway even as Giles stepped into it.

The guitar played on.


	2. B - Bluff

**BLUFF**

For a moment, everything was silent. The trees had settled, the wind refused to move. No animals were making any sounds, not even rustling in the underbrush. Still. Absolutely still. It was surreal, like stepping into a painting but everything remained as it was on canvas. Meticulously beautiful, colorful and vibrant, but lacking any true life. Evoking emotion but not sensation.

In any one, save maybe the man perching precariously at the top of the sheer cliff.

He was certainly feeling a lot of sensations at the moment. The most pressing was the dire sense of vertigo that was assailing him as he drew himself backwards carefully, though he stumbled as he narrowly avoided pitching off the cliff. He had been at a dead run, and coming to such a sudden stop had nearly been impossible. How he had managed to see the cliff before he was over it even he did not know.

But he was certainly glad he'd managed it.

Beyond that dizzying nausea of seeing just how far he would have had to fall before meeting his death, he was feeling a sharp fear deep in his chest. It gripped his heart and did not just make his blood run cold, but made it feel like it was still in already dead veins. He stared down into the darkness beneath his feet, not even seeing the bottom. Were there jagged rocks down there? Water?

He did not want to find out.

The silence, though punctuated by his gasping breaths, broke entirely as the forest behind him exploded into motion. Chaos. Three demons burst from the thick brush, some how finding his path through the thick over growth. He looked at them, turning his back to the hole behind him, though he did not think the monsters standing in front of him now were much of an improvement.

"Give us the Queen," they said, one voice, together. "Give us the Queen, and you will be spared from pain. You will be Saved. Give us the Queen."

Giles hated the way they spoke, hated their blind loyalty and impossible, hive like minds. He knew they were acting on instinct, not malice, not their own volition, entirely. He was holding the one thing that helped them make their choices, the one thing that aided in their survival. The one thing they lived for, in fact. Their Queen, nestled in its egg, rebirthed after a thousand years of sleep.

The Watcher knew he could not let that cycle repeat. And he was the only one who could do anything about it now. He was the last stand, the last hope of the people of this time, and for any future generation. If enough survived to make one. He held the egg to his chest, both arms wrapped around it protectively. Even possessively.

"No. It's mine now. I won't let you have it, I won't let anyone. Let me go: there's nothing you can do to get it that won't result in your precious queen being destroyed."

"Foolish. Do not kill our Queen. Give her to us. We will take her home."

"She is home," he growled, but he noticed the words as they fell out of his mouth. He was threatening demons over this egg, this unborn monster, and he had no reason to. He didn't want to keep the thing: he needed to destroy it. There was a power oozing from it, just as he had felt before. It influenced his decisions, his words. He hated and did not trust it.

But it was so subtle, yet so firm, he could hardly resist it.

He took a step back as they demons took a collective step forward. At his heel, rocks crumbled away and fell down the side of the cliff face, toward the shadowed realm below. He envisioned he would shortly be following those little pebbles. The image of his own body falling helplessly though the air was strong, horrifying in its way.

The demons did not understand fear. They did not feel hesitance. That was their weakness, if ever they had one. They did not know what they were risking: they knew they needed to protect the queen at all costs, but could not see beyond this moment. They did not share the same images that came to his mind, they did not imagine the fall that the cliff face meant.

"Give us the queen," they said again, and they moved together. One step closer to him, with three demon feet. He took a step back, but he didn't have it. His body pitched as his foot failed to find a hold, though he was able to pull it forward before he lost his balance. He was out of space. They didn't stop.

He had no room to move, no room to argue. He hugged the egg to him, defensive and protective over it. It was his, not theirs. He was protecting the world, keeping it from hatching once again. Keeping the world from suffering any more loss at this demon's hands. Yet instead of turning and throwing the thing off the cliff, he held on to it.

"If you come any closer, I'll jump with it. Your Queen will be gone."

They came closer. Why would they believe him? He had shown them his will to live. He had escaped, ran from them, left his friends behind. He had taken the egg, protected it. He could have destroyed it at any time if that was his intention. They did not buy into his bluff.

So he could not keep bluffing.


	3. C - Crawl

**CRAWL**

"Your elbow is in my face!"

"Did you ever stop to consider that your face is in my elbow's personal space? It doesn't trust people like it used to, it's been hurt before. You should really be taking it a lot slower with my elbow."

"Shut up, Xander." The sharp directive came from somewhere to the left, though the darkness was so thick that it was impossible to see just where. Add to that the intermittent support struts and cobwebs so thick they made an opaque sheet, and it was no surprise that no one was really aware of how close or far they were from one another. Xander had to assume that their Watcher's attitude came from being uncomfortable in this dingy hell hole.

It wasn't exactly spacious. They were confined under the building for now, waiting for their cue from the others upstairs before they began their assault on the floorboards. Willow had room enough to scoot along on her belly, and would be able to wriggle herself around and onto her back when the time came. It made for being able to scoot along with a bit more speed and dexterity. Xander, larger than the female red head, had also opted to move on his stomach, but found that he was not going to be able to turn around and would have to find some way to saw through the floor above him without being able to face it.

Off somewhere to their left, grumpy and very serious, Rupert Giles had managed to pull himself along his back. It was cumbersome and exhausting, but it left him in a better position to saw through the floorboards when he would need to.

"How do we know when we're close enough, Giles?" Willow asked timidly, having played a part in irritating him, though it was Xander that took the blame for it. She did not want him snapping at her, too, though, as she was sensitive and already had her emotions all over the place from stress and fear. The last thing she needed was her friends yelling at each other, or her.

Maybe if they just focused on business, things would be fine.

"I've memorized the ground plans," Giles groaned, his voice thin and low, but not simply because he wanted to keep quiet just in case there was anyone over them. According to their plans and research, they were not far enough into the place for them to have to worry about it yet, but he was not going to risk anything if he did not have to. He made a pained sound and Willow glanced in the direction of it, managing to see that he had come to a stop not too far off. "Bloody spiders. Bloody place. Ah. Yes, we've come about forty feet now, but there is quite some distance to go. These old castles are built rather like labyrinths. But our path is straight: it is just on the far end rather than the close end."

They couldn't enter at any other point, so they had to just keep trudging along.

"How do you know you weren't looking at it backwards?" Xander asked. Willow reached out to smack him, but he was gone now, his elbow, or the rest of him, no where to be found. She frowned and curled into herself, scooting along and trying not to think about how gross, dark, and lonely it was under the foundation of this castle.

Giles responded to Xander with a devastating silence, which made the younger man shrivel up and lose the will to make any more jokes. The three of them continued on their way in silence after that, until they began to hear the echoes of footsteps above them.

"Here," Giles breathed, nearer to Willow now. She jumped at the sound, turning to see him looking at her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and, she realized as she stared back at him, so had hers. He made a motion for her to be silent, hissing through his teeth from behind a raised finger, then pointed upwards. They needed to pass by this room, she remembered, to get to the one they'd be able to cut through. They just needed to be absolutely silent while doing it.

How hard could that be?

Xander kept moving without pausing, not realizing the two were having a silent conversation and not hearing Giles' voice. The other two followed after him, both looking and feeling rather frustrated. It was the confined place, the deep darkness. And everything felt like it was crawling, sticky, and utterly disgusting. Willow would have to shower for a week once they were done.

Straining her hearing, she could have sworn she heard the voice of one of their friends up above. Something was terribly familiar in the tone, anyway, though she couldn't make out the words. Was it Buffy? She was their distraction, and hopefully she had her timing right. Willow had no idea what time it was, though she was sure that Giles would have been keeping track of it somehow. He was always the prepared one, after all.

Once they had all scooted and dragged their way across what Giles explained was the main hall, Giles cleared his throat.

"We should be safe to whisper. Xander, do you still have the tools?"

"Uhh... was... was I supposed to have those?"


	4. D - Dreamy

**DREAMY**

Buffy move to sit at the table with her friend, eyes burning with keen interest as she stared the red headed girl down. Willow, for her part, did a good job pretending she did not notice Buffy's excitement, her eyes utterly attached to the desk in front of her. Of course, it would have been a much more convincing show of interest and dedication if she had something like a book or a note pad in front of her.

Instead, she was staring with unnerving interest at the scratched and scuffed wood of the much used library table.

There was an engraving on the table, put there by some less than professional artists, that enveloped two names inside a crudely drawn heart. Willow stared at it, as if to memorize it, following its every curve slowly, taking in each letter for what it was, broken down into a series of strokes of whatever item it was that they had used to do the damage. Keys or something like that. Hopefully not a knife.

Though, in this place, neither of the girls seated at the table would be surprised if the students were packing knives when they came to school. And who could blame them? This place was a nightmare, sometimes. Demons, vampires, Snyder. It could be a very scary place for a student.

Even a Slayer or a Witch in Training.

"Oh, hi Buffy."

"Oh, _hi_ Will," Buffy said sharply, catching her helplessly distracted tone and not buying it for a moment.

Buffy had just walked in to find Willow chatting with one of their acquaintances from class. Buffy did not often talk to this other girl, finding her a little on the boring and plain side, but Willow had struck up a kind of kindred friendship with her. When Buffy arrived, the two had been whispering excitedly together, giggling and both a bright shade of red. And the Slayer knew what that meant: they were talking about boys. From the look on her face, Buffy was sure Willow was falling for someone.

But the other girl had scooted out of there as fast as she could once Buffy got there, and was not able to make eye contact with her, much like Willow. Willow, however, was Buffy's best friend and could not so easily escape her now very curious attentions. She folded her arms over her chest, arching an eyebrow curiously and with a strong air of impatience.

Willow buckled.

"W-we were just talking about... a-about a..."

"Guy?"

"Y-yes." Willow's head drooped, and she turned a new shade of red, though this one was clearly from embarrassment. Buffy giggled and clapped her on the shoulder, scooting closer and hunkering down.

"Dish. Who is it? Is it Gabel from Math? You always like partnering with him."

"Uhm..."

"Come on, Will! You have to tell me everything. Does he know you like him? Are you going to ask him out? Do you think he's going to ask you?"

Willow shook her head.

"N-no. I mean. He... it's just... he's really cute and... and smart. I don't think he even notices me. I... Buffy, don't say anything..." She looked at her friend desperately, and Buffy smiled, clearly planning in her mind to give Willow a make over and make her go and ask the guy out, or maybe go and do it for her through some sort of elaborately romantic set up.

Willow blushed furiously and Buffy saw how upset it was making her. Awkward to the max, as it were, to the point where Willow was not sure she could handle it further. She shrunk down in her seat and there remained when their Watcher appeared from the back office.

"Ah, Buffy, Willow. I thought I heard voices. I was just in my office, doing a bit of reading... good heavens, Willow, are you quite alright? You're very red." He blinked at her, oblivious to the fact that her red look came from embarrassment and not some sort of exertion or fever. He was further confused, then, when she shrank down in her chair and vanished under the table. She could not lift her eyes to meet his, or even glance in his direction, for fear of exploding, of giving herself away. She never should have started talking about it. Why had her friend pointed out how cute the librarian was in the first place?

His gaze shifted to Buffy, eyebrows high and confusion painted on his gentlemanly English features.

"Girl stuff," Buffy explained, and then vanished under the table to recover her friend.


	5. E - Euphony

**EUPHONY**

Every human being had a sound they just could not get enough of. Something they could listen to every day of their lives and never tire of it. For some, this love transcended just one sound, and they found joy and a deep sense of connection to all music. For others, it was the sound of their loved ones laughing, the beating of their hearts in the still of the night, the soft sighs of their breath in moments of peace. Others still were a bit more simple, and found little joys in day to day sounds, from birds singing to balls bouncing down the street.

Sound was vivid, it was a direct line to the soul. Sound was as tactile in the memory as running a hand over the soft fur of a favorite animal: one would remember the sound of that animal. Some said that smell or taste evoked the strongest memories, but there was a special place for those memories tied to sound, something that was deep and eternal.

For Giles, the sound that made him happiest was simple. It was subtle, and it was likely that no one else, not even the source of it, was aware of how much it meant to him. Just a little moment of every day that he could not do without.

Emotions were difficult for a man like Rupert Giles.

A Watcher, first and foremost, he had been trained from his childhood to believe that emotions would get him and his Slayer killed. Attaching himself to her would provide her a weakness, and soften her where she needed to be strong and alone. They thought that giving her space and having her Watcher be detached would keep her from being broken, being hurt, if anything were to happen to him.

And it would, in time. There were few Watchers who outlived their Slayers, either dying before or with them. That was just another part of the job, and another thing he had been told all through his training to expect.

But so far, they had not been a particularly normal pair. They broke with tradition. He did allow himself to feel for her, to protect her and love her like he would any of his own family. And they had friends, real friends, who helped them in the fight as well. Maybe they were weaknesses. Maybe if Willow or Xander were taken by an enemy and turned into bait for a trap, it would bring Buffy to her knees. It would force her hand. And maybe, one day, it would get her killed.

The threat, however, was out weighed by all the perks that came along with having this little family of theirs. Even Giles, the oldest of the group and the one who felt like he was the 'dad' of the whole lot. He looked out for them, scolded them when they made the wrong choices or failed to do their homework. He cared for their safety and their happiness, and he even kept up with the stories of their daily lives. Sometimes he didn't understand what was going on, or what they were talking about, but he still appreciate that they would tell him about it.

Include him.

And he knew they often got the same out of him. Maybe he was a bit more shy about sharing his personal life to them, but that was mostly because he did not have much of a personal life. He had put that away, shove it to the sidelines, in pursuit of his career as a Watcher. And that had been almost too easy, considering how drastically his life had needed to change back then. Now, though, he had found his place. It was unusual, it made people wonder about him and he did not fail to see the looks other faculty members gave him, but he ignored them all.

They did not understand what he and the three students were doing. How closely they had bonded out of necessity and need of one another. They saved the world, time and again, and they protected every life in this city with their own. Even the people that teased them, that bullied them, that made their lives unfathomably difficult. Because for the gang of warrior against the darkness, there was nothing personal in it. They could not afford to hold grudges, because every human life was important.

Even the ones that they would rather not know, or have to deal with. It was still their duty to protect. Every one.

Giles could not have been more proud than he was of these three students. Kids taking on responsibilities so far beyond them, it was near impossible for anyone not in their position to even understand. They were forced to grow up far faster than they should have been, they were forced to see things even the most highly trained adults would struggle with. They faced terror unlike anything the world at large could comprehend, and they did it every night.

And still managed to do most of their homework.

Giles was waiting in the library with these thoughts, holding a picture Buffy insisted that they all take together. The four of them, a unit, a family in its own way. Friends. They bickered and got angry with one another. They were painfully annoying sometimes, and he knew he vexed them to the point of exhaustion as well. Yet they always came back, every night, to do everything they could to do well by a city that, largely, hated them.

He heard the doors swing and he smiled, putting the picture down on his desk and leaving his office, stepping out to see the trio walking in, mid conversation. They noticed him at once and he nodded his head at them in greeting.

"Hey Giles!" they chimed, and he felt that feeling rising in him. That one daily moment of the purest joy and calm.

"Hello, you lot."


	6. F - Free

**FREE**

"What have you done? What did you do to me?!"

The demon laughed at her impotent rage, watching her with a passive expression once the amusement passed. He moved toward her, slowly, leisurely, no fear reaching him now, as it once had. It was all too easy to shove her out of his way, sending her sprawling across the rocky floor and skidding a few feet to boot. Stunned, scraped up and now stinging both in body and in pride, Buffy looked up at him as quickly as she could get her senses back together.

"You wanted to be free, my dear. I granted your wish, as all good Genies are wont to do. You are not unfamiliar with how this work, I know that. I have seen into your memory, your desires. You have given me everything I needed, so I have given you everything you could hope to have. This is my purpose, this was what you wanted, was it not?"

"No! Are you kidding me? Did I want you to take over the city, or kidnap my friends? What page in my head were you reading to get that?!"

The demon grinned at her. He had too many rows of teeth for the look to seem in any way comforting. Where once had been a kind and trustworthy face, there was now a creature that all but screamed evil. How had she missed it before? How had she fallen for his charms? A gentle word, a reassuring touch, a smile that she would be a fool to trust and yet did so without any thought at all.

He had a magical influence over people, she realized, and their wishes were most likely guided by his desires.

She was just another one of his pawns. He had just struck it rich in finding her, in using her. She felt like a fool, giving in to such a silly, school girl dream. Being normal was not her destiny: she'd experienced it more than enough to know that her life could just not go back to that. She did not work as a normal teenager, her life did not function without this title, however cursed she felt it might be, of Slayer. This was who she was, and to wish it away was to wish for a new existence all together.

"I struck it rich, finding you," the demon said, drawing her from her thoughts by airing them out loud. He could read her mind: that was how he knew about her friends, how he knew where to find them and how to hurt them. He had seen it in her head! She did not like that idea, someone else poking around in her brain. Things got so complicated in there sometimes there was barely enough room for herself to see through all the bull. To have someone else picking through it, using her against her, was almost a nightmare.

He could know so much, and it was all her fault.

Just because she carried all her memories, all her weaknesses, and the weaknesses of everyone she knew in her brain. It was like reaching into a pocket and stealing everything that made a person who they were all in one fell swoop.

The demon watched her, seemingly amused by her dissecting his abilities.

"Your Watcher put up a nice fight. Hitting him in the head did not fell him as quickly as you fear it does. I do not think he has brain damage, either." He was staring at her with that terrible, cruel grin. She scowled at him, gripping her hands into tight fists, to the point where her nails were digging into her palm and making it bleed. She was furious, just thinking about him trying to knock Giles out, trying to hurt him just because he could.

"You'd better tell me where you put my friends. And they better all be in perfect health, or I'm going to make you pay for it twice over. I know you're game now, you bastard, and I'm not going to fall for it any more."

"Are you? But you're just a little girl. What can you do to me?"

It sank in then, just what he meant. His magic was powerful, and he knew what he was doing. He had done this over centuries, buying his life span, stealing his existence from those that fell into his trap. He fed on the magical waste that their wishes generated: it did not matter what they wished for, he was powerful enough to grant it or fake it enough to get what he needed out of them. Steeping them in magic, letting them see what they wanted, feel what they wanted, live whatever life they had asked for, created a run off of sort from the spent, tainted magical energies that then fed off the energy their emotions generated. Joy and happiness were potent forces, and a delicacy for the demon. He fed on them, feasted in fact.

The emotional energy, the magic that was pouring off of Buffy would sustain him for eons to come, if he was given enough time to harvest all he could from her. And he had all the time in the world, because his magic had stolen from her the few abilities she had to her name. He rendered her weak, helpless, and even without her skill to heal herself or even her heightened senses. She was just a normal girl, with a far from normal problem.

And that was the point: he needed to keep her busy with distractions, like her friends, so she did not focus her attention on things that might actually bring him harm. As long as she was bending her will to find her little buddies, though, he would be fine.

She would be searching for a long time: finding them would be difficult for a Slayer. For Buffy, it would likely prove impossible.


	7. G - Guard

**GUARD**

The heart monitor was beeping in a steady, soft rhythm. Nothing was blaring or clanging in an angry or alarming away, and everything seemed to be quiet and normal. The doctors were not buzzing around the room, and though a nurse would poke their head in every now and then they did not seem too concerned. In a way, that was a comfort. It meant that the patient was in a stable enough condition that they did not need constant monitoring.

But it was also infuriating, because he wanted her to be taken care of.

Giles sat at her bed side, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, holding her hand in his. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the knot of their fingers, speaking softly to her, though his voice fell to the floor since he did not lift his head very often. It was hard to look at her, without the guilt settling heavily on his shoulders. He could not bear it, and the anxiety of it all, the knowledge that he had failed her. It was his fault she was laying in that bed.

It should have been him.

That night had started as any other would. The gang on their patrol, four of them together though it was generally not necessary to bring the whole group on a patrol. For one reason or another, they'd all ended up there. Maybe it was something like fate, maybe it was a design of some kind. Whatever it was, they were there as a team and when the demons attacked, they responded as a team.

Giles took his normal role. Not the one he was playing now, of a man desperate and lonely, wishing he had been the one injured. It was supposed to be him. She had taken the fall, taken the hit. She was as innocent in all this as any of them could be, considering.

But it had not been her magic they'd wanted.

"I'm sorry, Willow," he said softly, taking a deep, shaking breath and finally forcing his eyes up. He rested his gaze on her bruised and bandaged face. She was hardly recognizable, in this state, though he refused to flinch when he looked at her. Maybe it was a false sense of duty, an idea that he had already hurt her so much, caused her to be targeted in his place, that he owed her at least this much. He owed her everything he could afford her, big or small.

The red headed witch was too deeply asleep, mostly from the anesthetic and less from her actual injuries, to notice his apology. It was probably for the best, though, as he was not sure he was saying the right things. His apology seemed flat, seemed dismissive. He did not feel like he was capable yet of truly apologizing for the trouble he had caused her, them all. He had not admitted it, not out loud.

"It was my magic they wanted, not yours. Dark magic, yes, but it was my spell... I... I just wanted to see if I still could... if I had the power I used to have... all this talk about my age, my role..."

He had let his self doubt cloud his judgment. He had made a stupid, childish mistake just to prove that he had some sort of spark left. That he was not a washed up old man, as he felt like the kids believed he was. He was a fighter, and once upon a time he had been a musician and a rather bad dude. In his youth, he had been wild and reckless, and nothing would ever get in his way.

It had been dangerous and stupid, and he had gotten himself and a lot of his friends into a lot of trouble. Why would he possibly want to relive those days? Why would he open himself back up to that kind of risk?

And not just himself, but his friends as well.

Just one little spell, and he was reminded in full force how dangerous it could be. Why he had given it up in the first place. Now the only thing he had managed to prove was how untrustworthy he was. He was supposed to protect them, guide them, but now he had shown he was still capable of terrible mistakes. He was more of a risk to them all than most of the monsters they faced could be.

He held Willow's hand, watching her quietly as all these thoughts and more turned through his head.

He was not going to go anywhere. He would remain by her side, until she woke up, until she healed. If those demons wanted more magic, they would not be getting any more from her. They would have to go through him first.

As they should have done the first time.

"I'm so sorry, Willow. I am going to set this right. I am going to make you well again, I promise. This is my mistake to fix, and you are not the one that is supposed to be suffering for it."


	8. H - History

**HISTORY**

His body was completely limp, his head lulled to the side. They found him behind the cash register, blood trailing across the floor where he had dragged himself. It was a long trail, from the center of the shop, near the table, stretching over an impossible distance for a dying man without the use of his legs to haul himself. He had managed to press his back against the base of the counter, reach a bloody hand up, and tug the phone down by its cord. It had clattered to the floor beside him, and there remained unused.

His body was still, a thick pool of blood curled around him, the liquid running down through his clothes, over his skin, to collect on the carpet. He had been sitting there for half an hour at least, more than enough time for him to bleed out.

The table was broken and over turned, a smear of blood running down from the wood where his body must have collided with it after the initial hit. He was in shock then, the splinters of wood pushed around, but none of them used in self defense, all too large or small to be useful to him in his panicked state. The attack had come from no where, he had not been anticipating it. It must have been someone already in the store, someone he did not recognize as a threat, or someone he had not even seen.

The store had been open, normal operating hours on this dark but mostly unremarkable Wednesday afternoon. The other employee, Anya, had been on her lunch break and, for once, out of the store. What had made her break from her usual routine of staying in to eat her lunch, atop her usual stool beside the register? She had a fondness for money that went beyond what normally passed for money loving by human standards, her affection running away from greed, though not far from it, toward actual care. She loved money as much as she might a pet, a dear collection that she had sentimentally attached herself to.

She was always interested in more of it. If she had been paid off for the hit, then she would likely be coming in to a large sum of it. They would have her watched, her accounts and actions noted, over the next few months. If she was guilty in any way, even a small part, they would find it and deal with her as they would any other demon.

So far, they had been more kind to her than she deserved.

It was only at the behest of the Council's man that they had not intervened sooner. These kids were doing a fair enough job of protecting the world. As good as people from this realm, this time, with their minds and abilities could do, at any rate. The Slayer was exemplary, and the Watcher, at the very least, was aptly matched to her. Their relationship was unique, an oddity in a long history, but it had proven so far to be strong. That, too, had been something they felt kind enough to ignore and allow to grow in its way.

In the end, it had not altered their path. There was a destiny that came with this work that none could avoid, though many tried. Many that had fallen out of the pages of the Watcher's Journals, even, names that seem to have never existed at all but were remembered by those far more powerful, timeless, than the Council itself. Those that would escape their fate. Watchers and Slayers trained all their lives, simply to prepare for the day that their work would kill them.

Rupert Giles had met that day.

Now it was left to them to find out how, and who. There was no why, not that mattered. They were not called for petty reasons, the justification mortals gave themselves to do these things. Even demons operated with a similar psychology, their evil rationalized in its own levels, though it was beyond what humans could encompass even at their worst. It hardly mattered what mortal being it was, they were all fighting for their own survival. They all had their own reasons to exist, and strove for the destinies and fantasies they set before themselves. Their goals, however petty or small, however grandiose. Even those that claimed immortality did not know what it was to truly be beyond the laws of the Earth.

To those that were called now, there was no time. They felt no ages, simply watched the passage of time and did nothing to interfere unless there was a wrinkle, an anomaly. They saw forwards and backwards, and the history of the world was as set in stone as its future. There was no changing things, and those that attempted it were met with derision, suspicion, and a deep investigation into their methods and actions.

Those that challenged the Way were thus challenged to prove they knew better than the Past and Future. Those that challenged Time were drawn out of it, their place forgotten, their existence removed as simply as a human being blinking their eyes. Only those that lived and breathed the History could do the impossible, but for them, it was breathing. Their control was absolute.

No one questioned them. No one challenged them.

No one succeeded.

The body had not been moved from where it had fallen. No one had found it yet. He had not been able to make a call, though his efforts had been profound and impressive in their limited and all too mortal way. He died sitting up, eyes staring forward, as if something had been standing over him when he died. Something that had caught him off guard, something that he had not expected to see in that last moment. Whatever that might have been, no trace of it remained.

They would return to their world, they would see what was. To them, there was no time, no passage. It all moved as one moment, it was all determined, it was all happening and never ending, yet all of it had already been completed. Life, the Earth, this minute, the last a thousand years and the next. Nothing moved but as one.

And in this moment, History had been changed.


	9. I - Infect

**INFECT**

"Psycho something," Xander croaked, his voice sounding utterly broken, as if he had been heavily smoking for years that far out numbered how long he had actually been alive, "that's what he said. That means, like, in our heads, right? So if we just believe we're better, then we'll get better. Right?"

He spoke very slowly, and with extreme difficulty. He had been coughing non stop of some time, at least since they had left the Bronze some hours before. It had been getting progressively worse through that period, and over the last hour it had been so bad they thought he might choke, or pass out. His chest was aching miserably, and his throat was so raw he could barely speak properly. Yet somehow, that did not stop him from trying. He looked at the woman around him pleadingly, eyebrows tented at hopelessly optimistic angles. The only time he turned away from them was to cough into his hand.

Willow, as of yet uninfected, reached her hand over and placed it gently over his free one, squeezing the back of it affectionately in an effort to calm and quiet him. They would have to find a different way for him to communicate: speaking was becoming too difficult, and he hardly needed to be straining himself more. He smiled at her, seeing the worry in her eyes.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" she asked softly, but he shook his head.

"We can beat this. That placebo effect, right? We all take sugar pills, and we're all better. Piece of cake." He forced himself to say, though it was punctuated between sentences by a coughing fit.

Buffy, sitting opposite the duo at the round table, shook her head.

"That's not what he said."

"No, it's not," Willow agreed. "That's psychosomatic. But he said something else. I wish he had been able to finish his thought... to tell us what he meant..."

She looked at Buffy apologetically, though the Slayer was not looking in her direction any more. She had diverted his eyes over to the man sleeping on the sofa, one arm dangling to the floor and the other draped over his stomach. His feet were resting on the arm of the long chair, though his feet were drooping because his legs were too long for the furniture. He seemed to be sleeping, though his breathing was ragged. Faith was sitting beside him, and Buffy noted the way she was pretending she had not just replaced the cloth on his forehead with a new, cool one.

Buffy turned her attention back to Willow and Xander.

"He was trying to explain what was going on with us. Whatever this illness is... I think it has to do with the magic he was studying. He was looking in his books, right? He had all those notes in front of him. We'll have to go back to the house, we have to see if they're still there. Maybe he wrote down what was going on, knowing what was going to happen to him?"

"How would he have known..." Willow looked confused, and Buffy shook her head, standing up. She was feeling restless, trapped. Faith glanced over, moving her fingers away from Giles' hand, where they had been resting. She followed Buffy's motions, understanding the emotion behind her pacing. No one liked feeling helpless.

Especially not Slayers.

"He's Giles, he knows everything. If he knew what this was, he probably knew how we could fight it. Willow. You and Faith are the only ones that haven't gotten it yet, and we don't know how long that's going to last. Giles is out for the count with his fever, Xander can barely talk, and now I'm losing my strength. Psycho means brain, right? Or something like that: whatever it means," she waved her hand to make sure Willow did not interrupt with a proper explanation. She could be very much like their Watcher, in that regard, "I think he meant that our brains are doing this. It's part of the magic. Why else would we be losing the most important parts of ourselves? What we must believe we absolutely can't afford to lose right now."

The whole city was in turmoil, vampires running wild now that the city had been gripped by this illness. With the lockdown, no one was coming in to help them, and everyone with an evil intention, human or demon alike, were taking to the streets. There was no law, no punishment. And without the Slayer, there was only one way this would all end. Buffy could not afford to leave it in the hands of the government, and she would not allow the vampires to have their run of the city.

They needed to figure out what this was: and Giles had likely done just that. But the virus had crippled him, giving him that fever that had destroyed his ability to remain conscious, or to be lucid when he was awake.

So now it was up to them.

"Faith, can you get back to his apartment and get his notes, without bringing anything back here? We can't be caught, none of us can fight. Will, if you could use some magic to protect us it might help, but I don't want them to be able to feel it. We need to be careful, this is the only safe spot we have."

"You got it, B," Faith said, easily. Buffy looked surprised, and she nodded toward Giles by way of explanation. "I owe him one."


	10. J - Jerk

**JERK**

They were sitting together on the sofa, she on one end, he on the other. There was nothing particularly unusual about it. Just another day of research before heading out on patrol. Reading up on the various demons they had spotted recently, checking for anything strange or particularly dangerous, looking for anything that might mean a prophecy coming true, or some other portent of ill. The same old stuff they did every night, except Saturdays.

Because she refused to do book work on a Saturday night, even when she had to patrol.

He was not paying attention to anything but the book, as per usual, his head bowed, his eyes shifting over the pages with a speed she could not hope to match. Especially when her own book was strewn haphazardly over the arm of the sofa, some pages scrunched up into each other due to the hasty way she dropped it down. Sometimes it felt like books would burn her hands if she held on to them too long. Like tonight.

Sometimes she wondered how he managed to survive. His house was very much a bachelor pad. It was empty, for the most part. He did not believe in much decorating, and what he did have out were likely all magical items of some sort, or trophies from some insane endeavor he had managed to survive. Strange souvenirs from a lifetime of living the unbelievable.

She got up and wandered to the fridge, though she knew before she opened it that she would not find any food there. There was never much in his house except for tea and sometimes alcohol. What food he existed on when they were not bringing over take out she had no idea. Maybe he had evolved beyond the need to eat, to make his researching more effective. Or maybe he was just not very good at taking care of himself. Something told her that it was more the latter than anything else.

Sighing profoundly and getting no response from him, she wandered back to the sofa and plopped down as theatrically heavy as she could, rolling her head to the side to regard him pitifully. He was bent forward over a book, glasses resting at the very tip of his nose, eyes scanning the pages in that same trance like way that they had been before. He did not seem to notice when his body bounced from her landing on the sofa.

"I'm going to explode if you don't let me go out and patrol, Giles. We've been here for four hours already and you haven't find anything. I can't look at these tiny letters and see words any more. My eyes are broken. I need to go out, I'm going crazy."

She watched him as she pleaded and could almost see her voice heading toward his ears, hitting an invisible barrier, and careening off to the side without ever being heard. She made a long whine of a sound, writhing on the sofa and draping herself over the arm of it miserably, hanging her hands toward the floor and looking as pitiful as possible.

He continued not to notice.

"Giles!" She yelled suddenly, but that only resulted in his reaching over, not tearing his eyes from the page, and picking up another book. He shoved it in her direction and returned his hands to the pen and paper he had been scribbling on. She gripped the book with a terrible pout on her face, scowling at him. He had been hearing her, he was just choosing to ignore her, and letting her suffer.

But he had not looked up from the page, and his expression was blank and innocent, intent on his work and seemingly oblivious to the world around him. Maybe he really was just so focused on the research at hand that all he noticed was her not doing anything, and that was what had made him react. There was no way he could be ignoring her when she was yelling at him, but the way he was acting made it seem like he had no idea she was actually mad at him.

She was not sure if he was just the most patient man on the planet, or the most oblivious one.

"There's no food here. Should I go out and get us some food?" She tried, her tone close to calm, though it was shaking a bit with her frustration. Giles did not heed the question, scribbling on his notepad as an idea struck him. She took a breath and tried again. "Are you thirsty? I can get you some tea if you want, I know how to make it now. I've seen you do it enough."

Not even the promise of tea stirred the Englishman to look at her.

"Ughh. Why am I here? I'm not doing anything? I'm not even reading! Most of this stuff I can't read! I could go out and find the demon and kill it before you find anything in these books about it! Come on Giles, just let me go out!" This was torture. This was punishment for her missing patrol the night before. Now he wasn't letting her out of his sight. That had to be it, just because he had gotten himself a black eye from a new born vampire that she had missed. That had to be it.

"I'm sorry you're mad, Giles. I promise, I won't let it happen again."

Silence. She let out a rib shaking sigh and collapsed forward in her seat, reaching forward and grabbing the book she had been handed before, opening it to a random page and staring at the words. She blinked, recognizing the picture that leered up at her. "Oh, look, isn't that it?"

Giles looked up then, though her tone had been mostly to herself and barely passed as audible even in the quiet room. He leaned over to look at the picture and she glared at him, incredulous fury rising in her. He looked up to her and smiled sheepishly, and she kicked him away almost but not quite playfully. It sent him careening harmlessly to the other side of the sofa.

"Jerk."


	11. K - Kiss

**KISS**

The night was dark, quiet. Of course, that was how most nights were, and yet the peace and calm of the evening twilight never failed to break. Every night, without fail, Buffy the Vampire Slayer ran into something that wanted to kill her, eat her, drain her of her life energy or fluids, or just break every bone in her body. No matter how still, how nice the night seemed to be when she set out, she found the trouble lurking in the shadows.

But that was her job.

Lashing out, she reached behind the gravestone and took hold of the unaware vampire, huddled over another figure. She hauled him backwards, using her immense strength to drag him off his feet and hurl him a short distance away. He might have kept going if he hadn't slammed into a particularly tall and decorative headstone.

It cracked and then fell, landing on top of the vampire.

Buffy moved to the fallen victim, hoping she was not too late to help him, but was surprised when she found the man half submerged in the freshly disturbed dirt of the grave itself. He was snarling and struggling, his arm broken backwards and a piece of wood fallen nearby to it. It took her a moment to realize what had happened, then grabbed the wood and finished the job she had interrupted.

The new born vampire burst into dust, hissing at her all the while. She dropped the stake, rolling her eyes as she looked toward the gravestone she had broken with a vampire's body. Her senses told her, at least, that she was not incorrect about that part. So she did not feel guilty, because it narrowed the list down substantially to who she had just thrown. Considering the only other vampire that would waste their time hunting their own kind was half way across the state at the moment, she easily guessed who she had tossed so carelessly aside.

The guilt just refused to rise up, for one reason or another.

"Sorry," she said unapologetically, "I didn't know it was you until you were over there."

"Cor, Slayer," the vampire coughed, theatrically for the most part as he had very little use for his lungs these days, "was that necessary? Get this bloody thing off me and I won't wring your neck for it." He was pinned to the floor under the gravestone, unable to reach behind himself and move it from his face down position. She moved over to him slowly, arms folded over her chest, an impatient look on her face. It was a mask, though, as amusement glimmered in her eyes and the corners of her lips tugged upwards in a smile she refused to let free.

"If I leave you there, you can't wring it either way."

"It's your bloody fault I'm stuck! I was doing the good thing, fighting the good fight and all that! You were slacking and that newbie could have gone and snacked on anyone one of your friends. I am a goddamn savior tonight, and I get treated like a... like a common..."

"Vampire?"

"Yes, but you're-"

"The Vampire Slayer?"

"_Yes_, but I'm-"

"Still a vampire."

Spike let out a frustrated growl as he took matters into his own hands. He shoved his palms against the ground and shoved himself backwards in one of the most difficult push ups he had ever accomplished, throwing the gravestone off of him by sheer brute strength. Buffy took a step back as Spike leapt to his feet and turned on her, stalking forward a few quick steps to bring himself face to face with her.

Or as close to it as they could get, he was taller than her. She stared up at him, eyes burning, and he growled as he stared back. All he saw when he looked at her was torture, someone who delighted in tormenting him, playing with his emotions now that he had them again, making him feel like half a man when really, all he wanted to be was one whole vampire. She had taken that from him far too long ago now for him to even remember clearly.

She watched him and he could see nothing of the emotion he knew she had to feel for him in her eyes. It infuriated him, it made him hate her for everything she was. She could stand there and pretend that he was nothing to her, when he suffered for her. He plagued himself for her. He stayed near her when all she did was push him away. And he loved every second of it. He could not imagine life another way, or whatever passed for life, because she was becoming his everything. She was all he had, all he could see, and he knew in this accursed soul of his that she would be all he ever needed.

A vampire did not need to breathe, but for this one, he had found something much more important than oxygen. She gave him meaning, as convoluted and terrible as it was.

They were a breath apart, his lips just brushing hers. She did not pull away, not for a long moment, teasing a kiss. He leaned forward, a fraction of a centimeter. He dared, searching, reaching out on a limb and risking his everything, once again.

She pulled back before his lips could fully meet hers. She was gone before he could react, in anger or to call her back, and he stood there, burning.


	12. L - Lonely

**LONELY**

His apartment had been cleared, her body gone, the caution tape removed. The police did not want him for questioning. It was easier for them to pretend this was a home invasion, the she had died by accident. It was easier to ignore the mocking pretense of romance, the way she had been so carefully placed. And it was easier for them not to consider him a suspect, filing this case away with all the other cases that would never be solved. That was what the Sunnydale Police Department were good at sweeping things under the rug, because it was the only defense mechanism they had.

How else would they deal with all the strange and horrible deaths being reported each night? For the most part, there was no solving cases like these, as the murderers were not human. They moved beyond the law, and while most in Sunnydale either failed or refused to notice them, the Police had no choice but to see the strange things happening, and make decisions for the greater good of the city itself. It was better that the public not be privy to all the things that came through the precinct and the hospitals.

No one would live here if they really knew what was going on.

Giles was protected by his alibi, corroborated by enough people that it was iron clad. He had been no where near the victim at the time of death, or when she was moved to his flat. Beyond clearing him of suspicion, there was nothing else the Police could do for him save platitudes and condolences, which he did not want.

There were still rose petals littering the floor, curled and brown now after being left so long from their stems. They were dead, of course, and Giles did not have the heart, at the moment, to clean them up. He could not go upstairs, either, or look into his bedroom and see the bed where she had been killed. He knew her body would not be there any more, the police had removed it and would contact him for funeral arrangements once their investigation was complete.

She had no next of kin listed, and he was the last person she was connected with.

He was sitting on his sofa, turning the note that had been left for him over in his hands. The note Angelus had written, telling Giles to go upstairs. The scene had been so romantic, so painfully sweet, and Giles had been all too eager to believe it was Jenny who had done it. He did not question how she had gotten into his house, and he did not think it was too far out of her character to think of something like that. He was wrong, in many ways, about many things. He would never be sure, though, if she was capable of such shows of romance: she had been taken away from him before he had the chance.

The image of her laying on his bed was burned into his memory. Even closing his eyes would not relieve him of the picture, and he would never be able to go to sleep with it in his mind. The bottle of scotch he had been nursing was beginning to help clear his mind, but he was not numb enough yet to undo the damage he had taken that night.

If Buffy had let him die, he would not have cared. Going to find Angelus and the other vampires had been incredibly stupid, but he had not planned on coming back after it so he did not care. He was willing to throw his life away in pursuit of some fleeting vengeance. He wanted to kill Angelus so bad, no matter who he had once been, no matter what he had once meant to Buffy. But would that have done any good, for any of them? Buffy loved Angel. She was young, it was new to her, but perhaps it had been something similar to Giles and Jenny. And to lose him in this way was hard enough for the Slayer. For her Watcher to kill him... it would be too much, for all of them.

And if Giles had died, the result would be the same. Buffy would be the one hurt in the end, and that was not something Giles wanted to do.

He tossed the piece of paper away, drinking heavily from the bottle of scotch and leaning back into his sofa. This would be his bed for tonight, since the bedroom was technically the scene of a crime.

The room was tainted. It was where she had died. He would have to redecorate. Buy new covers for his bed, shove it to another corner of the room. Make it look like it was wholly knew, so he could stop seeing her image, like a ghost, on the bed. He shuddered, looking at the bottle of scotch and having trouble remembering how full it had been when he started. It seemed awfully low now.

He missed her. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, to make sure the air was clear and to apologize for everything he had ever said. From the moment they met, to referring to her as that 'Calendar woman' with various, less than flattering adjectives attached. He wanted to tell her he cared about her, he knew they all made mistakes, he wanted to show her he could accept their differences.

All he wanted to do, at the end of the day, was sum all these things up in one simple little phrase that he had been too scared to tell her, in case it drove her away. He loved her. He wanted to love her, he wanted the chance to have a life with her. That had been taken away from him, and it was cruel. It was cutting.

The one chance he had at a happily ever after had been tied to Jenny. Without her, he was nothing. He would return to his duties, he would not notice when women looked his way. He would keep his focus and he would protect those around him by not attaching himself to them. It was unfair, dragging them into this world, this fight. They had no business, he and Buffy, the Slayer, making friends, putting them in danger. Theirs was meant to be a single, solitary existence. Lives dedicated to saving everyone, but never being known. They would die, the both of them, violently and if they had done it right, no one would ever know. A new Slayer, a new Watcher, would take their place.

That was the way of their world. But they broke with tradition. They did things their way, with friends like Xander and Willow. And Jenny. Collapsing against the arm of the sofa, drunken and in a daze, Giles had to wonder if it was worth it, just so they could not feel so alone. Even if, in the end, that was all they could be.


	13. M - Mile

**MILE**

"We have to keep moving. We just have to keep moving. They're behind us somewhere, but if we keep moving they can't catch up."

The demons were large and slow, and the dense forest would slow them down considerably. They were relentless, and it was that attitude that had the scoobies on the run. The hoard was just so powerful, so vicious and single minded: now that they knew the gang to be their enemies, they would stop at nothing to be rid of the small gaggle of humans that could hinder their Queen's plans.

"The more we run, the more of them there will be. We must find shelter, we must plan. We need a place that is safe, that they cannot follow us to," Giles panted in response to Buffy's urges. He was some distance behind her, struggling to keep her pace. It did not help that he was carrying Willow, and that was exhausting him further. With both of their packs on his back and her weight in his arms, he was dragging behind the Slayer, who was supporting Xander and carrying his things as well as her own.

"Giles..." Buffy heard the exhaustion in his voice and looked back at him. He was only human, she had to remind herself. As strong as he could be, as dedicated and knowledgeable as he was, he was still just a man with no particularly special powers to his name. He certainly lacked the strength she had, the fortitude and power in her body that made her capable of such long and desperate treks. She saw the dark circles under his eyes, and the pale tint to his skin. His clothes were clinging to him, from his sweat and from the random bouts of rain. This terrain was horrible, and walking was slowed by the mud and unstable rocks and underbrush that plagued them as they slowly ascended a long, low slope.

All they needed was a boulder to be pushing.

"I'm fine, Buffy, but I cannot go on much longer like this. You won't be able to drag all of us. I've no idea where Spike has gotten to, and Faith..." Faith may well have been the one to doom them all. He refused to believe it, his heart burning with stubborn conviction on that front. The icy glare he got from Buffy at the mention of the other Slayer, though, told him that she did not hold out such hope. Still, it may well have been Spike that had forsaken their hide out to the demons, and it seemed that was not something Buffy was willing to consider. So, for now, neither of them could risk throwing blame around. At the moment they only had each other, and neither would risk an argument that would never be solved.

Buffy moved to him slowly, carrying Xander with her. She took one of the packs to help lighten his load, though he insisted on taking at least one of them. They continued on, not hearing the enemy behind them but that did not mean they were safe. The demons could have been answering to their Queen, who would likely come up with an effective and devastating method of hunting the team down. They had to try and remain one step ahead of her, but with their collective energies running on empty, their chances of survival were dropping fast.

It was Giles that saw the cave first, though Buffy was moving toward it before he could point it out to her. He did not waste the breath after that, seeing her shift in direction and following her to it. It was not as hidden as he would have liked, but it was shelter none the less. The rain had started again, soaking them all through to the bone. Giles had wrapped Willow in his jacket, but even that was little protection against the dropping temperatures and freezing rain of night.

Buffy collapsed into the cave first, putting Xander down and stumbling through to sweep the cave for any unwanted inhabitants.

"Sorry if you're in here, Yogi, but you're about to get evicted," she murmured to herself, but was glad to find the place animal free. There was a dark patch in the back of the cave that she explored, and found a very long tunnel that she did not dare investigate further for now. She shoved a few rocks in front of it for protection, then returned to Giles. He had put Xander and Willow together, making them as comfortable as he could, and they were shivering together. Giles was getting a fire going, but it was slow and difficult with the wood getting wet, and his hands shaking too much to use his lighter. Buffy helped him, steadying his hand, and the fire eventually caught. There were dry enough leaves and undergrowth protected by the mouth of the cave to feed the fire and keep them all warm. The smoke rose up to the ceiling, curling around before filtering out through the mouth of the cave.

"We have to hope," Giles breathed, his voice ragged and punctuated by heavy breaths. He still had not managed to recover from their trek, and Buffy felt a sudden stab of guilt as she listened to him speak. "they do not see that, or it will bring them straight to us."

"We need the fire, Giles, or we'll all get sick or..."

Giles agreed, though, and shuddered miserably. She moved to sit beside him, after digging out blankets for Xander and Willow from their packs. They were mostly dry, at least, and that would help. She draped one around Giles' shoulders and then hugged one around herself, crouching down at the mouth of the cave after a moment of just resting. She had a knife in her hand, and Giles turned from the fire to watch her. He understood what she was doing, of course.

Someone needed to keep watch.

"Wake me in a few hours," he said, his voice low and heavy as he made to lay down, pulling the blanket around him for comfort. "And I will... I will take a... watch..." he murmured and dropped off to sleep almost before he had finished his sentence. Buffy watched him, smiling softly, tears burning in her eyes as she looked from him to the others. She would not be waking them until morning, if she could manage it. They all deserved what little comfort a good rest could bring them.


	14. N - Nature

**NATURAL**

He saw her sitting with her friends, and she thought she was very pretty. It occurred to him that she had no idea who he was, or that he was interested in her. In fact, she probably had so many guys running after her that she had no time for people like him. He was just... he wasn't sure. He didn't consider himself a no body, he had a little clout around school, but he certainly was not one of the jocks. He was dork, he supposed, and any status he thought he had could easily be removed from him by the cool girls.

She was a cool girl. There was no other group for her. She was pretty, she was vibrant, she had a winning smile and a matching attitude. Sure, she was quiet and no one really knew what she was like, but some of the girls that had been there for ages were just as unknown. Because they wanted to be that way, living superficially, smiling and cooing but sneering and tearing behind turned backs. He did not think she was like that, though. She seemed shy, and honest. Maybe the cool girls would never accept her as an official member of their click, but in his eyes, that was where she was meant to be.

He did not know her name.

He had found himself asking, a few times, what it was, but he had not been able to catch it, not all of it. He knew it was pretty, and he wondered if she had a nickname around school and a real name elsewhere. But she was so damn cute, he just could not suspect anything strange out of her. Even though he had seen her doing strange things.

Okay, so maybe he was the one being strange.

He had seen her a few weeks before, and could not get her out of his mind after that. She had been dressed up like an Eskimo the first time. An Eskimo, at the Bronze. It was so painfully cute and strange that he could not help but be interested in her. He just wanted to find out more about her but she was impossible to catch without her friends around. They were like this small clique that were always together, protective and comfortable and, if he had his guess right, difficult to break into.

But for Daniel Osbourne, nothing was too difficult.

He was a very relaxed and calm guy, and usually everything just rolled off his back. He was even keeled and he did not mind any of the bumps that popped up in his road. He took everything in stride and, largely, without even blinking. His attitude was one of patient acceptance, his dead pan deliveries and reactions to even the strangest or the worst of events usually confusing those around him. No one could understand how he could be so calm all the time, while he wondered why everyone felt the need to freak out about everything.

If things happened, and he knew he could not change or control them, where was the point in wasting his energy being mad or upset about it? If he just faced things as they were presented, kept himself calm, and let the water roll over his back, he would emerge much better for it when all was said and done.

But she had him all worked up.

She was sitting at a table in the courtyard, book bag in front of her, dainty hands curled around one of the straps as if she expected someone to try and make a run for it. She was looking at the boy sitting next to her with a starry eyed sort of expression, but the meaning behind the gaze was lost on Oz. Or it was just not something he chose to acknowledge. Xander was waving his arms and his mouth had not stopped moving since Oz started watching, yet whatever story he was so wrapped up in telling was not holding the attention of the third member of their party.

Buffy Summers, the strange girl on campus. She had a reputation that was both absolutely insane and totally awesome, and Oz wanted to meet her. He wanted to know how she and Willow had become friends. Willow. Was that really her first name? It was so pretty, it evoked such a calm and gentle image in his mind. and when he looked at her he felt a new kind of peace settle over him. Not one of disinterest or forced calm in the face of stress. No, this was true, and simple, and deep. He felt like he knew everything about the world when he saw her, yet when he tried to focus on these thoughts they leaped out of his head and left him feeling empty and dumb.

He wanted to talk to her.

Summoning his courage, he moved toward the table. Her friends would just have to say hi to him, too, because he was not going to miss this chance. She was there, and he happened to be there, and that was as good as it was going to get. All he had to do was be his normal, detached yet philosophical self. He just needed to saunter over there and say hello, and she would no doubt say hi back. She as such a nice person, he was sure she would give him the time of day even if her friends had better things to do. Not that he thought Xander had anything better going on. And he didn't know enough about Buffy to know her stance on musicians.

He had never had to prepare so much to do something so mundane before. He steeled himself, gearing up as he walked over, closing the distance between himself and the table with heavy, unsure steps. His whole understanding of the world was lost, because a pretty girl had wandered by him a few times and he just could not get her out of his head. How strange was that? He would ponder it later. Right now, he realized he probably had the expression of a serial killer choosing his next victim on his face, and that was the last first impressing he wanted to make.

Just be yourself, he told himself. Just relax, let everything go, and see what way the wind blew, so to speak. If she was interested in him, surely she would know the moment she saw him. He saw them getting up from the table and tried to follow, telling himself to just be himself. He had to act natural. And maybe catch her before she vanished again. But mostly the natural thing. Was that the librarian coming to get them?


	15. O - Ocean

**OCEAN**

"Now I know what Aquaman feels like," Xander said, clinging to the large fish and shutting his eyes against the water that was rushing by him. To his own surprise, much like everyone around him, he was able to hear his words despite being completely submerged in water and diving rapidly. The others were close enough to hear him as they might if they were all running together, or maybe riding on horses.

"Except we can't control these things," Buffy reminded him, though she was the least terrified of the trio. Willow was clinging to her fish like it was her favorite stuffed animal, and there was a monster under her bed. The fish raced forward, following some silent order that none of them had issued, deeper than Buffy thought physically possible. And in a way, she was right.

No human would have been able to dive as fast as they were going, as deeply as they were going, and survived it. The depths would have crushed them, if they had managed to survive to terrible toll the journey itself would take on their bodies. Not to mention the fact that there were no tanks of oxygen large enough, no wetsuits strong enough, no electronic gear or even submarines advanced enough to get them to where these fish were now swimming.

Amidst all that, it also occurred to Buffy that she was not wet.

She would have to bring it up to the others later. The fish were swimming like small rockets, and, though there was no pull against her body, nothing to threaten the hold she had on the sea creature, she bent all her will and focus to the task of just holding on. She had the fish in her arms, hugging its long body and managing her grip so she did not crush the poor thing with her Slayer's strength. Where the other two were holding on as tightly as they could, Buffy had to make sure she did not go that far.

Soon enough, though, the fish slowed their pace and eventually they stopped, floating in place and watching the space ahead of them. Everything was pitch dark to the humans, and they were helpless and confused. Willow whimpered somewhere nearby to Buffy, and she felt her heart reaching out to the poor witch, though she would have to wait until later for proper comfort. Now their voices would not penetrate the safety of their personal bubbles of magic, or whatever it was that was keeping them from the death variables all around them.

Blinking her eyes, Buffy was the first to begin to see what was before them. A large gate that was slowly opening, sucking in the water around it. It opened enough to allow the trio and their rides to enter, and they were stunned by what met them. Demons. Under water demons. They floated up to them, moving to pull them free of their mounts. The demons were not rough with their movements, though they were firm and did not make it seem like dismounting was an optional event at this point.

Willow was all too glad to be free of the fish, and Xander felt like he was going to be sick now that the world had stopped and his stomach had time to catch up with him. He pondered how badly that would go for him, considering he did not know how the magical bubble that acted as his breather worked, or if it would allow anything he did throw up to pass through or simply collect. His stomach did another flop, just thinking about it, and he shut his eyes against the insistent way his stomach lurched.

Buffy watched the demons carefully, almost forgetting about the wild ride so she could focus wholly on the new situation at hand. She was not entirely sure these creatures were as friendly as their welcome seemed to indicate, and she only followed them peacefully for now because she did not want to get her friends hurt. And if Willow lost her ability to hold the spell, the magic that kept them able to breathe, they would all suffer a very miserable death.

They were walked, as if over ground but still very much under the depths of the ocean, water all around them, through what seemed to be a castle with no walls. The architecture was built from bubbles and what looked like glass, or what passed for glass in this wholly unknown culture. There were some solid supports here and there, but for the most part, the entire building was translucent. There was no need to build against the threat of water leaking in, as it seemed that these demons were not amphibious. They needed the water to survive. Buffy did hear a humming from above them, and wondered vaguely if there was some sort of filter. The water felt smoother, if that was a word she could use here, than the ocean beyond.

They were led down a long hall, into another chamber that opened into a circular area. In its center was a large throne, which looked very similar to thrones she had seen in fantasy and fairy tale books, and she walked up to it without fear. Xander held on to Willow's hand, seeing the uncertainty on her face. His smile reassured her, and she padded timidly after Buffy. It was for the Slayer to take the lead, here.

"You have come to my realm as guests," a booming voice said, and a demon, almost unseen until it began to move, stood from the chair. Even Buffy couldn't keep the gasp that escaped her throat back, staring at the majestic creature before her. It was tall, masculine, and it glistened under the strange lighting of the translucent dome. In more words than Buffy had to describe it, it was beautiful, with shimmering skin a color she had never seen before, that shifted with the water around them, as alive as anything else in this vibrant realm. It watched them passively, nodding its head at their wonder.

"It is not often we get visitors here. And what few of your kind we have seen have not been so... very alive as you. You will forgive my speech, I am not... I am not talking in your language much." The demon moved closer, examining them as closely as they did it, and looking almost as impressed. Their solid skin, their thick flesh and heavy bones, the lids on their eyes and the way their bodies moved with their breaths: it was all new to him, to all of his kind. The guards behind him, their skin more dull but no less see through, watched with less amazement and more heavy caution. Their King could be foolhardy, sometimes. "Welcome, my new pets. You will serve me well."


	16. P - Power

**POWER**

"Don't be such a sodding princess," he grumbled, his voice difficult to discern over the heavy rain fall and the sounds of the busy roads not too far off behind them. The further they trudged through the mud, toward the line of trees, the more distant the sounds of the city became. Soon, they passed beyond where more people bothered to come, into woods only bothered by the wild life. Of course, even the animals knew better than to be out in this weather.

Only fools went out in a storm like this.

"Bloody hell, Ripper, I'm soaked through and miserable. We're going to catch our deaths out here."

The man leading the charge stopped, turning to look back at his friend, who had fallen well behind in the journey. Rupert Giles was a man of exuberance and ridiculous indulgence. He wanted what he wanted, and he usually got it as soon as it occurred to him that he wanted it. He was the type of man who gave reckless youths a bad name. He not only lived his life dangerously, he dragged everyone around him down with him. When he had met Ethan and his little crew, it was the perfect place for him to escape. The man he was becoming now was the complete opposite of the one he was supposed to be.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

He pushed himself, pushed the limits of his ability to reason, threw his conscience to the wind. Whatever his brain told him not to do, he did it. He was likely going to get himself killed this way, but then again, that was what his father told him. And he was steadfastly against doing anything that his father thought he should or would do. So he was against dying on that ground alone.

Maybe not alone, but it was enough.

"If you can't cut it, mate, I'll find someone else who can. I thought you wanted to enjoy the ride. You said you wanted power, that you could handle this. We've not even gotten there and you're trying to turn tail."

Ethan huffed at his friend. It was one of his biggest weaknesses, being called a coward. Which was a shame, because he was largely exactly that and he knew it. He did his best to hide it behind plenty of bluster, but he was not a leading man. He was not a brave soul who could leap into the fray and handle anything that was thrown at him. He would much rather do his work from the shadows, and let other people suffer the consequences for him.

The idea of getting himself into danger, physical or mental, was always off putting for him. But at the same time he could not let Rupert get away with challenging him, calling him a coward even if not in so many words. He was going to prove to himself and to the other man that he was just as capable, just as power hungry and strong, as Ripper himself. Sure, Ethan had not earned a rugged nickname from his crew, even before Rupert had showed up, but that did not mean anything to him.

Not really.

Maybe a little.

"Listen Ripper, I can handle it. I'm here, ain't I? I'm going to get this power, and the first person I'm going to use it on is you." He growled, but he grinned as he said it. Despite everything, he wanted to impress his friend. He wanted Rupert to see him as an equal, a rival. Someone to fear a little bit, not step on and push around all the time. Not all of the time. He pushed by Ripper, who was grinning after him teasingly, shaking his head. He followed soon enough, falling into step beside the other young man easily. They were both drenched, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. Their legs and the bottoms of their shirts and jackets were coated in mud. Both combined weighed their clothes down substantially, and made the endless journey feel even worse. The undergrowth grew thicker, their steps coming slower as branches clung to them.

It was exhausting work, and after two hours, Ethan was sure that Ripper had led them no where. He was just opening his mouth to say something, but Ripper let out a triumphant laugh.

"There! There it is! The cave! Do you see it there? Bloody hell, it really is here. Should be covered in crystals inside, deep inside anyway, and we'll be able to summon the spell in there. It will be perfect, we'll have so much energy there. It'll be like a thousand amplifiers all at once, our magic will go through each one and get stronger, and stronger. Can you imagine it, Ethan? The spells we'll be able to cast. The spell I've got in mind. It's going to be bloody amazing. The purest display of magic ever."

Black magic, he meant, which had nothing pure about it.

The duo entered the cave, Ripper first, Ethan behind him. It did not take too long to find the den Ripper had described, the crystals glistening though there was no natural light source this far down. They were under the ground now, away from the water, some sort of run off or nearby trench keeping the cave from flooding despite being on a constant downward slope.

Ripper had a terrible grin on his face, and Ethan lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Ripper... what are we doing here exactly? You said we were supposed to get power here, but that's bollocks if we have to provide the spells. What can we cast in the confines of this cave that we can't cast just as effectively out where it might do us some good?"

"You're thinking on the small scale, Ethan. We're here for more than pleasure or temporary power. We're going to summon a demon. And its power will be ours."


	17. Q - Quirk

**QUIRK**

She was sitting at the sofa, her feet up on the coffee table. He watched her with a stiff upper lip, staring more at her feet than anything else. He might have been noticing her skirt, and the subtle curve of her calves, or he might have noticed the way the light was resting on her soft looking skin in a particularly alluring and pretty way. He might have, but he didn't. Instead, he was noticing the mud she had tracked in from outside, and the rare edition of a demon almanac that was serving as her foot's coaster. His eyes followed a drip of mud from the top of her shoe all the way down to the book, and he could almost hear it as it seeped into the old, dry leather of the cover.

It made him flinch.

She noticed, and at first she did think he was enjoying the view a bit too much. She shifted her legs a bit, one crossed over the other. She moved one up a little bit more, which accidentally tugged her skirt up a bit higher. She was watching him to see if he would notice, and realized in a startling, and disappointing, moment that he was not actually looking at her legs at all. He was staring at... her shoes?

"Not much for feet on the table, huh, Rupert?"

He blustered, drawn out of his daze by her speaking. He looked at her sheepishly, color rising in his cheeks. He cleared his throat two times, the first time being feigned and the second time being necessary after the first one brought a tickle to his throat. He coughed and struggled to catch his breath, his embarrassed expression looking desperate at this point. His eyes were quietly pleading her not to comment on it. She took the high road and decided not to tease him on that flub, since she was already focused on his need to be clean.

"Well, if they were a bit less dirty, Miss Calendar, I might be less protective of my ancient, one of a kind books that are serving as your recliner at the moment. If you would be so kind as to move your feet..."

She grinned at him, shaking her head and throwing her hands up in mock defeat.

"Alright, no need to bring out the sarcasm." She moved her legs down, settling her feet on the floor and leaning forward a bit to look at the book he seemed so worried about. To her, it just looked like an old book that had already been pretty damaged and stained before she had gotten to it. But then, she really had not seen it before she even put her feet up, so it was not like she paid the most attention to things like that. Hell, with Giles around, she could easily just leave that kind of thing to him.

All the worrying and fretting and the decorum stuff.

Giles moved forward, picking up the book and looking forlorn as he moved to sit in a nearby armchair, pulling a tissue from his pocket. It was a silk napkin, she noticed after a moment, not a tissue. His cloth for cleaning his glasses? He was not too fond of that, at least not as much as he was his book, since he was using it to dab up the mud as gently as he could manage. She watched him and smiled to herself as she took in the worried expression on his face, the frantic but contained motions of his arms.

"You are a stickler, aren't you, Mister Giles?"

He looked up at her voice, as if he had not anticipated her to remain, though she was obviously there to help him and had no intention of leaving any time soon. They were there for a purpose, sure, but more than that, it was fun to see him get so flustered and frustrated over such small and silly things. Sure, she would not want anyone throwing mud on her computer or something, but still. It was very doubtful that she would be so fastidious and all together strange about it. It was like he thought the books would be mad at him if he did not clean them up.

Though, in the world they lived in, that might not be too farfetched a thought as it seemed at first. She shook it from her mind entirely, though, moving to him and reaching to take his cloth before he could protest.

"Please, Miss Calendar, if you could just stop teasing me for a few moments, perhaps I might be able to gather my wits enough to get something done. This is all just making me waste my time and my focus... why have you put that there?"

She had his cloth in the waist band of her high cut skirt. She was wearing dangerous black leggings, but they left very little to the imagination despite fully covering her. His eyes, she noted, only drifted down to his cloth, but came right back up to where it was safer to gaze. Her eyes were easiest, and he glared at her stubbornly. She smiled at him and learned forward, closer than even she intended, her nose just barely brushing his. He drew back on instinct, though not much.

Curious.

"You need to relax a bit, Rupert. I think I've said that before. You're just so uptight. When was the last time you just let things happen, and went with them?"

"I hardly see how my needing to keep my books clean makes me a stick in the..."

"Mud?" Jenny giggled at his expression, pricelessly annoyed at both her and himself for letting the turn of phrase escape without his full permission. He had not meant to give her the satisfaction of embarrassing him further, but it seemed he was simply destined for it. To be blushing and mostly brain dead whenever she was near him, with her damnable ability to steal his ability to control the English language away from him. He stared at her stubbornly and she took a few steps from him, leaving him with the dirty book and without his cleaning cloth. It was in her waistband still.

"Come and get it."


	18. R - Rest

**REST**

Buffy pulled his blanket up a bit and made sure he was tucked in, noticing that he was still shivering. His fever had gone down and he looked a little less pale, but she was not going to take too many chances. Pushing him into helping them solve the last demon case was already one step too far for him, and he looked too exhausted to keep going on. She was determined to let him have a full night of rest, untroubled by any patrol issue. No demon or vampire would wake him up.

That was her goal for tonight.

She went downstairs after making sure the door was closed behind her, tiptoeing into the living room. Xander and Willow were there, though it seemed Dawn and Anya had gotten bored and left. Buffy was almost glad. It was easier to deal with just the two, like old times. They worked so well together, and there was less worry about arguments or stubbornness. Buffy could just tell them what she wanted them to do, and they would get it done. And tonight they were working for the good of the fourth member of the original scooby gang, so it seemed fitting.

"He's asleep upstairs. His cold got pretty bad."

"Well we did drag him out of bed yesterday and made him go out in the rain to cast that spell, and he was up all night doing it..." Willow caught herself as she was rambling off all the things they had done wrong for his health, but only because of the look Buffy was giving her. She shut her mouth and smiled feebly, then dropped her gaze to the floor and pretend to think about something else.

"So what's the plan? Call in for some pizza and watch some TV? Babysit the G-ster?" Xander looked very relaxed, not too worried about the older man. He was sure Giles could survive a little cold, and did not feel a modicum of guilt over getting him sick. It was not his fault in any way: he was generally the third wheel and had settled well into that roll. Important enough to be necessary to missions, but not the one making any of the decisions. Buffy had the lead on the fighting, and Willow had a hand in the magic. It was their faults, respectively, that Giles had been guilted into coming along.

He failed to remember that Giles had also been worried about Xander's nonchalant attitude, and did not want to leave him to help Willow with the spell, when it demanded exact and accurate pronunciations of the incantation and extreme focus on the magical energies around them. His hesitance probably stemmed from, during a snuffling explanation of all this, Xander had been tying a piece of string into a particularly intricate knot.

Giles pulled had undone it with a single pull.

"That's the goal, but we have to be as quiet as possible. Keep the TV low if you turn it on and no ordering out, I don't want the doorbell going. I'm sure he has left overs here, and we can make do for food. Do you think you can whip something up, Will?" Buffy looked at her best friend, knowing that she loved stuff like that. She was into math and science, measuring things and building something from nothing. Cooking was not too far off from that, and it even reminded her of putting magic spells together. Buffy knew Willow all too well. Though she was not the most skilled at it, she had been practicing, and was delighted to see if she could put something together for them to eat. She bounced off into the kitchen, and Buffy fixed Xander a glare.

"Don't mess with him tonight, Xander."

"What are you talking about? Of course I won't!" Xander said, entirely without innocence, and Buffy's glare only hardened. He realized that was the face she made just before she punched a stake through a vampire's chest, and he relented. "I mean, seriously. I won't mess with him. He'll sleep like a baby."

"Good."

She smiled at him and moved to sit on the couch with him, turning on the TV and turning it right down. At least Giles had gotten with the times and had been convinced to get a larger television than the one he had before. And it wasn't covered in things and treated like a desk rather than a functioning viewer into the larger world outside. She leaned back, able to hear the television just fine due to her sensitive Slayer senses, but because of them she had turned it too far down for the other two to know what was going on. Willow was working gently and carefully in the kitchen, moving slowly with the plates and the pans, so she didn't make any unnecessary noise.

Buffy was very pleased with their progress, as Willow came in with some 'burgers' she had made from the left overs in the fridge. They were perfectly capable of having a quiet night in, and Giles would be just fine in their care.

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Who is knocking at eleven at night?" Buffy asked, though her tone was less annoyed and more cautious. No one visited Giles unless there was trouble attached. Be it an enemy up to no good, or a member of the Council, or someone else, with some new mission for them to pursue. She moved to the door and peered through the peek hole, but the doorstep was empty. She heard clattering against the window and motioned for Xander to go and look to see what it was. He did so, peering out but not seeing the source, glancing back at Buffy with a shrug.

"Maybe someone is trying to prank us? Some kids tossing rocks?" Willow offered. Buffy did not look sure, watching the door but listening for any other sound. It came all at once, the Window exploding inward and the door being slammed into and splintering as something powerful kicked it in.

"Don't you guys know how to be quiet?" Buffy huffed, as demons climbed into the house.


	19. S - Shave

**SHAVE**

"Okay, Giles, don't move, okay? Just sit really still, and it'll be fine."

The worry in her tone was strong, wavering in its level of sheer terror to concern ratios, and heavy with guilt. Giles chose to ignore all those unsettling feelings, focusing on her words alone, and pretending she had delivered them at a deadpan. He returned the sentiment the same way as he imagined it: flat.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be."

Unfortunately, Willow was hoping for a bit more comfort from him than that. He sounded cold and detached, maybe even sarcastic, and that was the last thing she needed. She was so worried right now, her hands could not stop shaking, but now was not the time for that kind of a tremor. It would ruin everything: it could even cause her to do something permanent. And Giles would never forgive her if she did.

She would never forgive herself.

Giles was a very important figure in her life. Sure, maybe she did not have the same relationship with him as Buffy did, but he was her Watcher. She was the Slayer. They were destined to have the close relationship they were fostering now, and nothing would ever come between them. They had proved that time and again. Things between the witch and the Watcher, though, were a little different.

They had a delicate relationship built on respect and warmth, and a lot of care went into their interactions. Giles played an important role in her life, like a father she had always needed, while he looked at her as he did the other scoobies. She was one of his children, one of his beloved friends. But she felt their bond was closer than, say, his with Xander. They had magic, and it was a link that he shared with no one else anymore. She knew that in his past he had run with a magical crowd, and they spent their time abusing it, but these days he had leveled out and had stayed away from the stuff. He kept her good, and he taught her so many things.

Lessons he probably would have wanted himself, when he was younger. Things he had learned the hard way, and he was protecting her from.

She owed it to him, then, to protect him as best she could. If anyone wanted to hurt him, then she had to make sure they did not succeed. If they wanted to steal from him or use him in some way that he did not want to be used, then she needed to step up and find a way to stop it. That was what he did for them.

They really were a family.

"Oh God, Giles, I'm so nervous. I can't do this. What if I hurt you? What if I mess this up? You're going to have to live with it! I can't. I can't do this, I can't risk it!"

"Willow."

His voice was stern, and yet, in its very unique way, it was comforting and steady. He reached up and put his hand on her arm, lightly. The angle was strange, because she was sitting behind him, but he still managed to help her relax. She took a shuddering breath and looked at the back of his head.

"Giles, I can't."

"You can. I trust you completely, and you know you've earned that trust. How much have we been through together, Willow? We've stopped the end of the world. A few times, actually. This is a mere trifle compared to that. You can do this, I have faith in you."

Willow needed to hear it, and it terrified her all the same. She closed her eyes and took a breath, lifting the razor once more. She put one hand on his shoulder as she leaned forward again, eying his hair before she made to turn the electric razor on and place it against his skull lightly. She hoped she had the teeth set to the right level, so she didn't bald him entirely, and gingerly pushed the razor forward. A streak of hair came off effortlessly, and fell away.

Giles watched its path to the floor, his expression shifting from forced calm to a moment of sorrow.

Willow had been practicing her magic earlier in the day, and she had thought she was doing quite a good job of it. She was using a doll to help her as an analog for a human, but the spell had gotten a little out of control. It needed a human life in order for it to work, and it did not focus on the doll the way she wanted it to. Instead, it went for the only other human in the house.

Poor Giles did not know what hit him until his hair had become an overgrown, matted mess.

All Willow wanted to learn was how to encourage growth. She thought the natural animal hair on the doll would be fitting enough to manipulate in place of human hair, but it seemed that magic could be very specific. She did know her spell worked, but she did not know how to control it. And she doubted he would teach her now, after he had become her unwitting guinea pig.

"I'm really sorry, Giles," she whimpered, over the hum of the razor, digging through a matted knot. He was going to have an army style buzz cut when they were done, and everyone else was going to tease him mercilessly for it.

She was just hoping he wasn't mad at her when he glanced over his shoulder as another lock fell away and she caught his gaze. He smiled at her, and her hand became a bit more steady. She had to do her best for him, because that was what he did for her.


	20. T - Truancy

**TRUANCY**

Everyone had their one true calling in life, something they were meant to do with themselves, something that gave them a sense of fulfillment and pride. Some took a while to learn what they were meant to be, while others knew from an early age. Others still were given a destiny they had never anticipated, and whether they liked it or not, they were meant to follow the path put before them. No matter what they did, they were destined for it, tied by fate to something they were essentially created to do.

For him, this was his destiny. Protecting these people, these kids, guiding them on their journey through life. He made sure they succeeded, that they had the information and the access to it that they needed, and he took pride in that. But more to it was his duty to their future, keeping them on the paths they were all set upon, and making sure they did not stray.

His chosen method was a classic, in its way. The best motivator, he found, was a healthy dose of fear.

Kids today had no determination. They had no guidance and their parents did pathetic jobs of instilling in most of them the drive they needed to succeed. They were all truants and habitual delinquents at heart, and they came into these halls expecting an easy ride. They were not here to learn, and in a way he didn't really care what they took out of their stay at the end of their four year indenture. All he cared about was that they showed up, they followed the rules, and they had their butts in their seats when the bells rang.

This was Principal Snyder's turf, and he ruled with an iron fist.

When he saw the bright young faces of his freshmen class, he knew immediately which ones to hate, which ones to push, and which ones were wusses enough to not cause any problems. He saw his enemies, the ones who saw him as a challenge to their pride, the ones who would fight him every step of the way. They were his favorites, really, because they gave him something to look forward to every day.

Crushing their will.

This was highschool. This was not like one of those hippie dippie TV shows where everyone was happy and they all learned life lessons with each other to become better friends, regardless of what clique they belonged to. This was survival of the fittest, and the fittest were those who did not cross Snyder. Of course, none were more fit than the principal himself.

He was king here, and he made sure everyone knew it.

Leaning on a locker, he watched at one of his most troublesome gaggle of teenagers walked by, taking extra care to not pave him any attention. He let them walk by, but his eyes followed them as they walked, head turning in their direction and gaze lingering as they vanished down the hall and then turned a corner. Toward the library, of course.

He did not understand them. They were one of those groups that did not make sense, the ones from those hippie dippie shows. There was the loser kid who tried really hard to pretend he was cool, the nerdy smart girl who didn't talk to anyone, and the would be popular blonde with a penchant for getting herself into the weirdest of situations. They were generally okay students, at least before the arrival of the blonde. The red headed nerd girl was always top of her class, and the loser guy did what he could and skated through with perfectly average grades.

Then Buffy Summers arrived, and they all started missing classes, failing to study for tests, and even not coming in to school at all. They always had perfectly reasonable excuses, as well, which drove him crazy. They got away with so much, and he wondered if they did not have friends on staff, pulling strings for them. It made him a little paranoid, and their relationship with the librarian did nothing to assuage those fears and suspicions.

Good thing librarians held no clout.

He moved from the locker he was leaning on, following in their footsteps, though they had been out of the hall for a few minutes now. The late bell rang and he did not see them coming back out from the library to get to their proper classes, which he had looked up and memorized just to be sure, when he caught them in the hall or attempting to leave the campus, he knew which teacher to yell at for their lack of responsibility for their students.

Moving carefully, he approached the library's swinging doors. He didn't go into the room, instead stooping down, just barely as he was not very tall, under the circular window that peered into the library's main area. He lifted up to peek in, trying to keep his head low as he did so, in case they were looking over. No one was. In fact, he didn't see anyone inside. Had they gone to the back areas? Up the stairs? Or had he just missed them going back to their classes?

Damn it, they always got away from him.

He was dedicated to making the lives of those he did not like absolutely miserable, and could hide it under the guise of seeing potential in them and pushing them hard in an effort to make them better adults in the future. Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg and Xander Harris were at the top of his most hated list. One day, he would be able to catch them in the act of truancy, without their excuses or their tweed cloaked librarian protector. And then he would slam them all with suspensions.

Or, if lady luck truly smiled on him, he would be able to suspend them completely. He would settle even on just getting rid of the ring leader, Buffy, alone. It would be such a beautiful victory for him, he could see it in his dreams sometimes. One day, she was going to slip up, and he was going to be there. He was always there.


	21. U - Unanimous

**UNANIMOUS**

"I'm putting this to a vote," Xander said, standing up from his place at the table. Everyone in the Magick Box looked at him in surprise, as they had not actually been discussing anything with him. There was a long, silent pause as they stared at him, and he looked from one to the next with a silent determination on his face.

"Put what?" Buffy finally prompted.

"I think we should not be reading. I think we're wasting one of the best days that we have had this week and we should be outside enjoying. So, I move that we go to the beach."

The group stared at him.

"Preposterous, we have to find the source of this-"

"That's a great idea!" Willow's excited cry cut off Giles' protest, and he looked at her more in surprise than irritation. She was generally not that loud, and it was strange to find himself drowned out by her, of all the assembled rabble rousers. She looked at him sheepishly and chuckled, shuffling her feet a bit before she stood from her chair, putting the book he had assigned to her down as she did so, pressing her palms to it. He winced as if in pain for the book's spine. She cleared her throat. "I second your motion, Alexander Harris!"

"Thirded!" Anya chirped, and Giles gaped at her. She was the last person he thought would trade on him.

"Anya, that does mean we would have to close the shop for the day. There's no money to be made with a closed shop."

"Is money all you think about?" Anya quipped, and the others murmured their agreement. Giles felt quite suddenly worried that he had slipped in to some sort of alternate dimension, and this was all just a cruel joke. He could understand Xander not wanting to research a possible end of the world scenario for the upteenth time, but Willow yelling over him when he tried to speak? Anya actually willing to miss a day of work? What was next?

Buffy arguing in favor of research?

"I think we should stay here," Buffy said, "we have research to do."

Giles put his book down on the table with a heavier thud than he was expecting, but it served a purpose. Everyone looked at him, and he took a moment to take a deep breath, reach up and bring his glasses from his nose to meet the cleaning cloth he always used to express his frustration, before he voiced his thought. If Xander could do it, so could he.

"I don't know what's gotten in to you lot, but I'm not enjoying it. Why do you suddenly want to go to the beach, Xander? We've only just got here, you've barely read two words. Usually you get at least four in before you give up. And why don't you want to go to the beach, Buffy? It is a lovely day and you rather hate research. It is more than passing strange for you to pass on that kind of an opportunity."

"Wait, are you saying you want me to stop researching and go to the beach?" Buffy watched him, confusion settled on her features.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I just mean that usually, if something like this were to happen, you would be one of the stronger voices in favor of knocking off early, closing up shop, and going off for a picnic, or whatever it is you lot would do at a beach." He found he was cleaning his glasses again, though there was no way for them to have gotten dirty in the small space of time since the last time he'd cleaned them.

"Oh, a picnic! That would be a good idea!" Willow chimed excitedly.

"Your motion is seconded, Willow Rosenberg!" Xander laughed, slamming his palm down on the table to make a hollow thud.

"Giles, if you wanted to go on a picnic you shouldn't have gotten us here so early, with no preparations. We have nothing ready for a trip to the beach. Except maybe some towels and bathing suits, a freshly made picnic with sandwiches of love and care, and some beach related tools and toys that might be in the trunk of the car parked outside. You know, if we're lucky. But really, Giles, you should put a little more thought into your plans for the day, so we're not all blindsided by it."

It was then, as Buffy began to grin at him and that same expression spread around the table like a virus, that Giles became fully certain that he was being set up. It also occurred to him that he was not going to win this argument. Clearly they all had planned together, possibly the night before, that they were going to the beach today. They'd made everything ready, and they only needed to get Giles on board for it. That explained why Anya was okay with shutting up the store: they had probably already provided her a reasonable exchange for making up the lost time at another date.

"I feel like I've been set up."

"The vote is unanimous, Giles, with yours added in favor of a picnic. We even have a thermos and some tea that none of us are going to drink. You're not going to make us waste bringing it, and the extra towel, and all that stuff? We put in so much effort to accommodate you!" Buffy was affecting his voice, and he wrinkled his nose at her in distaste. Still, they could have just run off and not shown up for the research session, so there was some solace to take in the fact that they not only invited him along, but forced him into it.

"Well, alright then. I suppose I'll drive."


	22. V - Visit

**VISIT**

"Oh Dear."

Giles could hardly understand where he was, looking around the unfamiliar territory with wide, surprised eyes. They were in a large field, with grass a vibrant and beautiful green, soft and wild, never once being trimmed or cut by anyone thinking they knew better than nature itself. The trees were tall and beautiful, swaying in a light breeze that was crisp and clean. The only sounds in the air were birds and crickets, the modern hum of cars and people chattering oddly absent.

Looking down at himself, he found he was wearing a shirt and pants that he did not actually own, and had certainly not left his house that morning wearing. It was a tunic of some sort, made of a simple, albeit a little itchy, fabric that was light and breathed well enough. The pants were sturdier, but lacked pockets and were supported at his waist by a rope wrapped around him. His shoes were certainly not any brand he recognized, looking fairly home made and practical, though worn and plain.

He was standing near a small shack of some kind, and he wondered if he might go to it to see if he could figure out where he had been transported to, if that was indeed what the demon artifact had done. And he would need to find out if the others had been sent here as well. Hopefully it was a country where he spoke the language. He was good with many, but there were a handful that he could just not master. It would be thoroughly embarrassing to be unable to communicate properly.

"You look a little lost, friend," a voice said from somewhere nearby, though a cursory glance around did not reveal the source. It also do not sound particularly nice, especially in the way it said 'friend'. Giles got the distinct feeling, in fact, that he was now very suddenly in danger. A creeping, cold shudder moved down his spine and he tried not to show it as he took a deep breath, lifting his hands to show he had no weapon.

"I am afraid I am. Forgive me if I'm trespassing here, I've not been to this particular area before, and have simply been... ah... turned around. Can you perhaps help me toward the nearest town?"

The man appeared to Giles' left, holding what looked to be a very sharp and weathered spear of some kind. Not the most noble of weapons, and it had the distinct air of being pieced together out of necessity, rather than by a metal worker or someone who built them for a living. To Giles, that just indicated that the man wielding it was much more predisposed to actually using it than the Watcher might have liked. He kept his hands up in a defenseless gesture.

"Please, I do not know where I am."

"Funny, how you end up lost on my farm, ain't it? With a giant castle towering off that way, you can't seem to find your way. Right strange, do you not think?" The man growled, motioning behind Giles. The Watcher turned, and saw what the other meant. A large castle loomed in the distance, behind a large wall that was mostly obscured by a line of trees. It was difficult to miss the tower itself, though, and Giles felt a bit sheepish.

"Ah, well, I assure you that I mean you no harm. I will be on my way, if... if you do not mind."

The man watched him, then grinned.

"I think I mind."

Giles did not really know what was going on. He barely had time to react before the spear, pointy end at least pointed away from him, came swinging at his head. It slammed into him with some force, more than he thought the old and worn looking wood could really take, and he was sent sprawling sideways. Really, it should have been the spear that broke, but it seemed like the Watcher's head was made of softer stuff. He felt himself being grabbed and hauled roughly from where he had fallen, barely conscious and unable to put up a fight for it.

He was dragged into a dark building of some sort, that smelled terribly of fecal matter and animals. Clearly this was a barn, and currently occupied at the moment by something other than Giles and the man that had attacked him. He woke up slowly, opening his eyes and finding himself staring at a horse's flank. It seemed he had a new roommate. Who was afforded more freedom than he was, as he found himself tied to a post, his arms painfully wrenched behind him.

"Urgghh..."

"Do not move," a gentle voice said. He felt a cold cloth touching his forehead, and he winced at the sharpness of it. He tried to get his eyes to focus, but his glasses had been knocked from his face on top of being dazed from the blow itself. He could hardly see the woman bending near him, tending to his injury. He did not know how long he had been out of it, but whoever had attacked him was long gone.

"Who...?"

"I do not know why you are out here, but you are making a dangerous mistake, my lord," the soft voice said. Giles felt a shudder run down his spine, and he blinked away what fuzz from his eyes that he could. He focused a bit more on her face, and his heart stopped in his chest. He recognized her. She stared at him, wondering at his expression, at the way the color ran from his face, but she did not seem to know him. Not personally. Not like she should.

"My lord?" She asked, suddenly feeling undressed and bashful.

"J...Jenny?"


	23. W - Wither

**WITHER**

The wall they had been hiding behind, already half destroy, exploded in toward them and the small group were sent flying in different directions amongst the rubble. Giles managed to remain low enough to not get thrown, though his effort was repaid by being showed with heavy rocks and painful shards of glass.

Xander hit the ground not too far from the base of the wall, yelling when he saw the rest of it collapse on top of the Watcher.

"Giles!" he yelped, struggling to get back to him, but another burst of power from the demon sent him flying backwards with such force that he had no idea where he was when he landed, or how long he had been there. If he had blacked out he had not been able to tell within the darkness that the demon used to attack them.

Its power was horrible. It seemed to control evil itself, as if such an emotion, a force, could be harnessed as a power meant to attack and destroy. And destroy it did: it struck its targets with brutal force, and the power seemed to shift in its effect. It could tear, it could burn, but for the most part, it decayed. Anything it struck seemed to be poisoned, and the points of contact burned away, dissolving into nothing but carcasses and ruins. The rubble was undergoing that process, chunks slipping off and dropping to the floor where they burst into dust.

"Xander! Xander!"

He heard her voice at a distance, and he opened his eyes to look at Willow, who was leaning over him, tears in her eyes. He was dazed from being thrown, but he must have just caught the burst of raw energy that came from something being hit hard, as the wall had. He groaned low in his throat.

"I don't think the 'what truck hit me' joke even applies here," he said thickly, his voice sounding odd to him, "that was so much worse."

"Xander..."

"I'm alright, Will, don't worry about it. Help me up."

"No! No! Don't move!" Willow screeched and the dazed young man felt his heart sink. He suddenly realized that she knew something he didn't, and dread crept through his veins slowly, gripping his heart. He took a shallow, shaking breath, and was left not feeling very relaxed for it.

"Will... what's wrong?"

She shook her head, lifting her trembling hands and covering her face, tears slipping down her eyes as she looked at him in the most horrified look he had ever seen on her sweet and gentle face. He knew her to be a bit sensitive, and sometimes she got a little spooked or worried, but he had never seen such keen and abject horror on her face. He took another breath, no more successful than the last one, then looked down at his body, following the line of her gaze.

"Oh. Damn."

He felt no pain, but maybe he was in shock. Maybe it was the magic of the demon, not meant to cause pain but to destroy swiftly and efficiently. Xander saw that his legs and chest were scarred and burned by the demon's power, as if he had been blasted by pure fire, yet instead of glistening and bubbling burns he was left with ashen dark patches. They were slowly creeping larger, his skin and flesh falling away much like the chunks of rubble had, dissolving into dust before they even hit the ground.

He looked up at Willow, his eyes stinging now. He knew what was happening, what this had to mean. There was no surviving, they had never seen someone get hit with this kind of a spell and walk away from it. Their limbs fell off, their bodies broke apart, and then they simply vanished. Sometimes bones were left behind, sometimes they were simply completely blown away by the wind. She looked at him desperately, scared to even touch him, but obviously wanting to. To hug him, to comfort him maybe, to tell him all the things she needed to say before he died. And he had so much to tell her, the best friend he had ever had, someone he loved with a part of his heart that could never be given to anyone else.

But he heart the demon's haunting call, that ethereal, bone shaking sound that terrified pierced through the ears, through the body and directly into the mind, tore his attention. He felt panic setting in, and he spoke through a ragged, gasping breath that made his voice tear from his chest in a sob.

"You have to run, Willow," he said direly.

"I can't leave you."

"You have to go! It'll get you too, and then what? You have to find Buffy, find Giles, and stop it! I'm dust in the wind, Will."

"Don't say that!' She moaned, reaching down to grab his arm as if holding him, touching him, would prove that he was wrong. It caved under her touch, and the dust collapsed under the palm of her hand. She gasped and drew back on instinct, and he watched her. His vision was fading, and he was glad he couldn't feel anything, his whole body slipping away from his consciousness, though most of it was still intact.

"I love you, Will. But you have to go."

The demon let out its mournful cry again, resonating deep in their minds and making Willow shudder. She forced herself up and away, crying as she left him behind.


	24. X - Xenarthra

**XENARTHRA**

"What the bloody hell is that?"

The vampire sounded more than a little annoyed, and Buffy could hardly blame him. Their night was not going very well, and it was clear that it was about to get even worse. As if running around trying to catch the influx of new born vampires was not hard enough, but now they had some sort of... very furry monster thing to deal with.

It was not what he signed up for, when he informed the Slayer of all the coming awakenings, and offered to patrol with her tonight in an effort to stop them before they became a real problem.

"It's a were... thing."

Not a wolf, she could see that clearly. She knew werewolves, in fact, and had enough experience to know, just from the transformation, that this was not one of them. For starters, it was much too large, and the fur was not right. Oz would have been very insulted to think there was any confusion at all on this front, as she had seen him more than enough to know a real werewolf when she saw one.

There was no question that this was a transformation, as fur was growing through skin in patches, its body still becoming bulbous and muscular as it blew up to twice or three times its proper size. It let out a strange sound that was not a roar, but some kind of an approximation of one by a creature that was not predisposed to it. A monster trying to sound tougher than it was. It turned toward them, fully formed now, and it lifted its long claws as if to menace them.

Buffy and Spike stared at it for a long moment, taking in the final appearance. It was Buffy who broke first, a sputter of a laugh cracking through her resolve, before she broke down into a hooting cackle. Spike followed suit, unable to contain himself after she broke first.

"I'll ask again," Spike howled, "what the bloody hell IS that?!"

"It's kind of cute!"

The creature stood over eight feet, towering over them. It had a hunched back, as if it was not meant to be standing on two legs, but was forcing itself to anyway. It had short, stalky legs that were thick and muscular, with heavy set toes that ended in curled and powerful looking claws, though they were angled down and looked best suited for digging. Its arms were not much different, though a bit longer than the legs, ending in lithe, more articulate hands that each had three long fingers, thick claws, like the toe nails, growing from them. These claws each measured close to half a foot or more each, but they were not intimidating. They ended in blunt scoop shapes, and the beast clicked them together in an effort to make them seem stronger or more dangerous.

What really did it in was its face. It looked stupid and utterly harmless, with small, glossy black eyes and a long muzzle, the fur around its face white and gray, giving it an elderly appearance where the rest of its fur was dark brown.

"It's a sloth! No, no, an anteater! It's ADORABLE." Buffy squealed, and the monster let out an irritated snarl at her. Its mouth did not appear to be designed for this, thus the sound was far from menacing. Spike howled his enjoyment, leaping toward the thing and tugging at the long tail it found behind the beast. It wobbled and very nearly fell over, almost felled by one slight tug.

"Oh, how terribly ferocious this thing is! What the bloody hell is the point of turning into this thi-"

The monster swung its heavy arm and slammed it into Spike as it turned around. It was not the fastest of movers, but the force behind the blow was surprising. Spike was thrown off his feet and he sailed through the air like a baseball until he slammed into a tree, which snapped in half by the excessive force that was traveling with the vampire. He hit the ground in a heap, though Buffy saw that he was stirring almost immediately.

The laughter, at least, had stopped.

"What the hell?" Buffy had not been expecting it to be so violent, and now it turned to her. Clearly it not only understood their taunting, but it did not appreciate it. Was this really a human, transformed into this beast, or was something else going on? As far as she knew, it was difficult to impossible for were creatures to be controlled, save for magic or incredible training and will. It was hard for her to believe someone would put in that much effort for a beast like this.

But clearly it had its advantages.

The creature lumbered toward her, its short legs making the movements slow and heavy, lacking any grace or style. It was certainly not going to get any points for being fast, and Buffy only had to keep herself out of its range to be safe from it. There was no way for it to be able to reach her for any sort of attack before she was already dodging out of the way and half way across the clearing from it. She was not feeling any fear or worry at this point, but she was wondering how to bring the beast down.

As she had learned from Spike, it was not very well balanced. She could get behind it and grab its tail, toss it right off its feet and then it would be stuck. It would never haul its hefty frame back up from that.

She moved, acting on her plan, racing to get behind it. Very nearly there, her progress was stopped cold as a slimy tendril wrapped around her neck and lifted her off her feet. It was the creature's tongue, she realized with a miserable flop of her suddenly upset stomach, and it was much faster than the rest of its body.


	25. Y - Yule

**YULE**

Giles sighed as he moved to sit down on his sofa, everything aching. He had an ice pack on his knee, though he needed about seven more for all the most pressing aches that were bugging him. Sometimes, he really felt his age after patrols, but usually he did not have to feel it three or four days later. He had pushed himself too far the last time he'd gone out, obviously, and it left him bed ridden, swollen, bruised and wholly miserable.

It was cold out, and his heater was on the fritz, as it always was when he actually needed it. His muscles were cold, tense, and that did nothing to help with the pain of the battering he had taken on patrol.

After all these years, one would think he would learn not to fight a vampire on his own, as he generally got into trouble that way. But he always had to help his Slayer, even when she had things perfectly in hand. It was a terrible complex of his, and it set him on the path of the white knight. Noble an brave, perhaps, but often unnecessarily so. He imagined Buffy would whole heartedly agree with that assessment.

Bearing his injuries in mind, Giles had called a small break from patrols for the gang. They were all too pleased with it, and he left them to their own devices since then. He would call them again when he was feeling better. They did not need to be in his apartment every day, studying books, making jokes, and eating all the food in his cupboards. He did trust Buffy to keep up her rounds, and she was generally very good about sticking to the schedule even if he had to bow out of a few patrols. She told him not to worry about it, but of course, that only made him worry more.

The Watcher had to admit, he was glad for the rest. It had been absolutely non-stop these last few days, with an influx of not only vampire activity, but troubling demon activity as well. Their patrols had been absolutely vital, and terribly interesting, and Giles had learned a lot about the new pack of demons that had moved into the city. It was safe for them to take a break, as the demons were not actually attacking anyone, they were just... there. It was not comforting to know they were out there, possibly planning something, but they were not making themselves too well known.

It was a challenge, and one Giles readily leapt to. How often did he get to research a brand new demon, the likes of which he had never seen, despite his extensive and often exhaustive research. He had been trained for this, and he took honest delight in it. The others thought it was strange, that he was strange, but he could not help his fairly bookish ways. He had his time in the sun, his reckless youth, yet at the end of the day he always came back to who he truly was. A Watcher, born and bred, regardless of rebellion.

This little puzzle was a delight to him.

Despite calling a day off for the whole gang, Giles found himself drawn to research. He hobbled his way to his library of books, pulling off a few he thought might help him in identifying the demons he'd spotted, though he had no real place to start. It was thrilling in a some what twisted way. Having nothing to work from, having no inclination, no previous information to draw from, absolutely nothing.

His brain would simply not allow him to take the day off.

Sitting down at his sofa once more, now with a stack of books on the space beside him, he relaxed by working. He had a notebook to take down notes, and to sketch what he remembered of the demon itself. It was all too easy to lose himself in the rhythm of the work, writing and scribbling out things he had written because he could not prove them to be true, or managed to prove the opposite. He kept his thoughts organized only to those people who had access to the inner workings of his mind. Which, on a bad day, did not even include him. But for the moment everything was making sense, and he was really finding a groove to his work.

Then the doorbell rang.

"Oh, bugger," Giles swore as the persistent doorbell ringer refused to back down, despite his best efforts to ignore them completely. He got up and limped his way to the door, tugging it open without looking to see who it was first, which sometimes led to great trouble for the oft targeted kidnapping victim. He was relieved to see his Slayer standing on his stoop, though, accompanied on either side by her best friends. Buffy, Willow, and Xander looked eager and excited, their arms behind their backs.

"Hey Giles! How are you feeling?" Buffy asked, smiling affectionately. Giles looked at her warily, then relaxed and smiled a bit. He stepped back and they were invited in, an invitation they all immediately took. They crowded into the apartment, almost unable to fit through the door until they took a bit more time to organize their entry order.

"I'm feeling fairly sore, to be honest. What brings you lot over here? I thought the last place you would be was here, considering."

"Considering what?" Buffy looked baffled and, oddly, offended. Giles took a moment to digest that, but he could not come up with a good reason for just how honest the expression on her face was. That, in turn, caused her confusion to shift to sudden realization. Her eyebrows lifted as she stared at him. "Giles, are you serious?"

The Watcher blinked, then looked at her, then Xander, then Willow. They were all wearing cute, knit sweaters that were rather charming and hand knit. He wondered where they'd gotten them all. They were certainly fitting for the time of year.

"Serious about what?" Giles asked, having lost the plot to their current conversation. That was not an uncommon situation for him to find himself in. Willow giggled and Xander rolled his eyes.

"I knew you'd forgotten!" Buffy laughed, looking like she'd won a bet, "and that's why we came over here to get you. Giles, it's Christmas Eve!"


	26. Z - Zealous

**ZEALOUS**

There was nothing.

Rupert Giles opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the floor, his hands tightly gripped on either side by two people, who in turn had their hands entwined with others, forming a united circle around the incantation symbols they had drawn on the floor. Small licks of flames continued to burn around them, but even the fire had died out to almost nothing. The shaking had vanished and the sounds that had been escaping the into the air were gone, leaving nothing but silence. The Watcher took a moment to take this all in and then, for the first time in a very long time, let out a surprised but happy laugh. It was purely stress relief, born from impossible worry and terror suddenly being abated.

After a beat, Xander joined him.

"We did it!"

Willow cheered and turned to Xander, giving him a great big hug as Buffy hugged Spike despite herself. He had been instrumental in preventing an apocalypse, after all, so it warranted a hug. Faith grinned proudly and watched the group, then moved to Giles and threw her arms around his neck, tugging him to her. The awkward sound he made was one torn between joy and confusion, though he was more than happy to hug the second slayer tightly in relief.

She took his face in her hands and looked at him.

"You saved the world, Giles," she said, and he scoffed. Before he could open his mouth to say something stupidly dismissive and Britishly self deprecating, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him deeply. The cheers and laughter around the duo died out as everyone began to notice, and then got caught up in staring at the strange scene. The young Slayer was really letting herself go, wrapped up in what had become a fairly passionate and intense kiss, though the Watcher looked like he was about to start flailing his arms in his confusion. She drew away, as if sensing he had reached his limit, and grinned at him from ear to ear.

"Listen, G. You and me... we've been through a lot, don't you think? This whole thing... nearly getting killed. You can pretend all you want that you didn't play a big part in the success of all this, but you did. I know that I would have died if it weren't for you, and I'm not going to let you brush that off as just part of the job. You're her Watcher, not mine, but you still stuck your neck out for me."

Instinctively, Giles touched his hand to his throat, where the bandage was still tightly wrapped, small blood stains seeping through. He had, indeed, stuck his neck out for her, and nearly lost what was attached to it in the process.

He would do it again in a heart beat, and he knew it. They all did.

"I think you're over exaggerating just a little bit..." he started to say, his tone quiet, humbled by her words and actions. He was still struggling to get his senses back after that kiss, as it had sent his brain spiraling in different directions, splitting his common sense from his instincts, and his intelligence from his desires. They were all whirling around his headspace uselessly now, and he was trying to grab onto something useful to ground himself a bit. "I... I ah... well, I mean..."

"No, she's right," Buffy said, looking at him. "though I think I did a lot too, considering I killed the scale-y guy. Not that I want a big Faith kiss." She wrinkled her nose and Faith grinned at her, popping her hip out and placing her hand on it tauntingly.

"Aw, B, you know I don't need a reason for that. You want a kiss, all you have to do is ask."

"Can I have a kiss?" Xander asked, and Willow sputtered and started laughing. Buffy, Spike, and Faith joined in with Xander himself, which led Giles to relax a bit and start to laugh as well. The small gang of heroes, bruised and battered as they were, laughed until they were bent in various directions, draped over furniture and each other, shaking and trembling. Willow had tears running down her face, and she clung to Xander tightly until she could not bear it any more, and buried her face against his chest. She began to sob, and Xander held her, his own laughter fading as tears stung his eyes. It was such a powerful rush of emotion, and Giles motioned from his perch on the floor for Buffy and Faith to come over to him. They did so and he hugged them, suddenly reminded, as Faith sat near to him and Buffy clung to his side, that they were still young. They were still vulnerable, and no one could deny how close to dying they had all come.

It had been a harrowing few days, and this last desperate spell had not been the triumphant moment they had wanted it to be. It was a feeble and hopeless last ditch effort while staring down certain, terrible death. But somehow, through their strength and their force of will, they had managed to get it to work. If it was his research, or Buffy's fighting skills, or Willow's magic, they would never know. In his heart, Giles felt it was the combination of all of their efforts, and nothing short of that. Without one of them there, even Spike the useless vampire, they would have certainly failed. The world would have ended around them and the demons would have kept them alive to watch it all burn, until they were all that was left.

It was natural to fear death, but it was far more horrifying, traumatizing, to know that there was something far worse waiting just beyond the horizons of their futures.

Somehow, they had managed to not only defeat a powerful enemy, but the had overcome their fears and doubts. They had faced their own flaws, their very nightmares, and each one of them had emerged on the other side. Not scar free, not cured, maybe not even stronger for it, but they had emerged. They had survived. And they were together. These were facts, Giles knew as he hugged the two Slayers to him, that would always remain. Whatever happened, they would face it. And they would win.


End file.
